Close Enough
by alliluna
Summary: When Patrick dies on the Titanic, Mary is left as his widow, and Robert is left without an heir. He finds an heir in Matthew Crawley, who he pushes into a marriage with Sybil. There is a glaring problem in this arrangement; Sybil is in love with the chauffeur and Matthew is in love with Sybil's sister.
1. Chapter 1

**April 1912**

* * *

Mary looked up as the door to her room opened, expecting Anna to come in to dress her. She sighed and leaned back against the pillows of her bed.

She was incorrect in her assumption. Instead, it was her father who came in.

He never came in her room; at least, not when she was undressed.

"Papa?" she asked, pushing the covers off and standing up. "Papa, what is it?"

He shook his head, and Mary looked at him more closely. His eyes were teary. Her heart beat in her chest, faster than she thought was humanly possible.

Her voice grew more panicked. "Papa..."

"The Titanic," he finally said.

She drew in a sharp breath. "Yes, the Titanic. That's the ship Patrick is on, isn't it? He's off on some sort of business trip."

"Mary, the Titanic... It sank last night."

"Oh," she replied, unable to think of anything more helpful to say. She sat down on her bed, absorbing the information. "You're telling me..."

Robert rushed to his daughter and took her hands. "There is little chance that Patrick survived."

"So my husband is dead."

He kissed her head gently. "It's not for sure, my darling, but it is certainly looking that way. I'm so sorry..."

Mary, however, did not cry. She stared her father in the eye. "He's dead. He's dead and there's no chance of me inheriting, no chance of me ever marrying again."

"Mary, you should not be thinking about that now."

She raised her voice. "It's only practical, isn't it? No respectable man is ever going to want to marry a woman who cannot give them a heir. Which means I'll be living on the charity of whoever inherits."

"Mary, you'll be well taken care of."

Her glare was full of ice. "How do you know? If you were to drop dead this minute, would you be able to assure a safe future for me?"

Robert stepped back. "Mary, give yourself time to grieve before worrying about all of this."

"I didn't like Patrick. In fact, I think we would have had many miserable years together, especially because I could not give him the one thing he needed. I think he resented me for that."

"It was not your fault that the birth rendered you unable to have more children. Patrick shouldn't have held that against you."

Mary let out a laugh, but it lacked any humor. "My son died minutes after he was born. And then the doctor told me that this dead little boy ruined me beyond repair. No wonder Patrick resented me. No wonder he ran off on a business trip! I don't think he was planning to die, but since he was stuck in a terrible, fruitless marriage, he probably didn't mind too much!"

"Mary! How can you be so heartless?"

She turned away from her father, her hands clenching the sheets. "My son died a month ago, minutes after he was born. My husband died last night. Now I'm alone. And I never had a heart in the first place."

* * *

"You must be kidding."

Sybil paced around the room, unable to process the information. She was fuming, and with good reason. And nothing her parents happened to say could calm her.

Robert placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder to still her. "We've found the new heir. He's a respectable young man..."

"He's middle class, though," Violet remarked, from her position on the couch. "A solicitor of all things! The day a solicitor becomes an earl..."

"In any case, despite his less than desirable origins, he has a good reputation, he works hard, and he is the new heir, so we'll have to accept him as part of the family."

Sybil stormed over to where most of her family was sitting. "Accepting someone as part of the family and marrying them are two very different things. You want me to marry a man I've never met. You want me to marry a man you've never met! How can you trust him? How can you simply hear about this man from our lawyer and say that he's the right man for your daughter to marry? And why me, anyway? Why are you engaging me to someone when I'm hardly sixteen?"

"Edith is already engaged, and Mary, well..." Cora said, with a sigh.

From her corner of the couch, Mary shot an icy glare at her mother.

"Ah, and because women are only useful for one purpose?" Sybil ranted. "Is he even agreeing with this? Or are you just going to fling me at him and hope that he takes the bait?"

Cora stood up and patted her daughter's arm. Sybil frowned and pulled away. "His mother agrees with us, that this is the best course of action. Of course, she was hesitant, but when we described our reasons, when we described you, she agreed."

"There's a part of me that's rather tempted to run away right now." Sybil said defiantly. Her statement elicited little more than rolled eyes from the rest of her family.

Mary coughed intentionally. "Sybil, I'm sorry, but that's a terrible idea. We don't want to kill you."

"Just to make my life entirely miserable."

"I had to live through the same thing..."

Mary's hard voice made Sybil shudder. "Exactly. It was horrible, seeing how you and Patrick hardly got along. Especially after the birth... I don't want that."

"Well, I don't want to talk about it, so kindly don't bring it up."

Robert poured himself a drink. "Sybil, you've read too many novels. An aristocratic marriage is not meant to be a love affair."

"You and Mama are in love."

"We were lucky," Cora replied. "And hopefully you'll be lucky too."

* * *

Sybil spotted a figure in black on the bench. Her steps quickened. As she _suspected,_ it was Mary. She held a book that she most certainly wasn't reading. She didn't look sad, but she didn't look happy either. There was simply no emotion on Mary's pale face.

"How are you?" Sybil asked, closing the gap between herself and Mary with a few easy steps.

"That's a rather stupid thing to ask," Mary replied bluntly. "My husband is dead."

Sybil pressed her lips together. "But you didn't love him."

"No, I didn't. But he's still dead." Mary put her book down. "And what about you? There's something you want."

"I'm frustrated," Sybil said. "How did you stand it? Being forced to marry a man you don't love... Papa's never even met him, how does he know that Matthew Crawley is a good man?"

Mary sighed, sitting up straighter. "Sybil, our marriages are never going to be for love."

"Edith's is."

"Edith got lucky, although I'm not quite sure why she's in love with a bumbling old man twice her age. I don't know what she sees in Sir Anthony Strallan."

Sybil rolls her eyes. "You're terrible, Mary." But a smile graces her lips. "Speaking of Edith, she's rather frustrated. Apparently Papa wants her to add two more guests to the list for her wedding."

"And why is this such a problem?"

"Because she doesn't know them. Papa wants Matthew and his mother to come to Edith's wedding."

* * *

Matthew put the letter down on the desk and rested his face in his hands. "You've agreed to this."

"From what I've heard of Sybil, she sounds perfectly lovely," Isobel defended, from her seat by the window. "And unless you want awkwardness, I'd compel you not to refuse."

"Of course she's described in glowing terms, it's her father writing to you. I don't even want this. Not the earldom, not the house, not any of it. But I'm expected to take it all on and marry their daughter?"

Isobel straightened in her seat. "Look, Matthew. They are entrusting you with enormous responsibility, and they've never even met you."

"They have no choice, it's the law. It might be a stupid law, but it's still the law."

"The least you can do is marry her. That way, they will trust you. They won't try to make your life miserable."

Matthew gazed over the letter. "How old is she?"

Isobel hesitated. "Sixteen..."

"She's sixteen? That doesn't feel quite right."

"I'm sure they'll allow her to have a Season beforehand. Apparently she's very mature for her age."

Matthew stood up and put a hand on the mantle by the fireplace. "It all seems so sudden... And so wrong."

"We're invited to the wedding of one of their other daughters, in September," Isobel mentioned.

"When was this?" He hadn't heard anything about it earlier.

Isobel held up a letter. "It came in the mail this morning, after you left for work. We're invited to the wedding, to meet the family."

"It seems an odd time," Matthew replied thoughtfully, taking the invitation from his mother. "Nobody invites strangers to their wedding."

"To be fair, you're engaged to Sybil."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Not by choice."

* * *

 **September 1912**

* * *

Sybil smoothed the fabric of her blue bridesmaid's dress and looked in the mirror. "Is it too long, do you think? I didn't realize how much shorter my shoes for the wedding are."

"I think you'll outshine Edith, darling," Mary responded, sitting on Sybil's bed. "Although that isn't hard to do."

Sybil gave her sister a chiding look. "I don't want to outshine Edith, it's her wedding day,"

Mary smirked. "You just want to impress Matthew."

"No, of course I don't! Or at least, that's not my only motive. But I've never met him, and it doesn't matter anyway. We're being forced into a marriage no matter what."

"Can I give you some advice?"

Sybil nodded weakly.

"Don't hate him. I know I'm not one to talk, but I disliked Patrick even before I knew we were engaged. With Matthew, maybe you can have a fresh start. I've never met him, maybe he'll be completely terrible, but Papa did meet with him in London, and he had good things to say. Darling, I just want you to be happy."

"Can I be happy though?" Sybil asked, her tone despondent.

Mary gave her sister a tight smile. "I'd advise you to try."

"I know you were resigned to it, to marrying for duty, but that's not what I want! It's not what I ever wanted! I want love, Mary... I know maybe I'm stupid, and I've read too many novels, but I want much more."

"I understand," Mary said. "I used to think that. Maybe I still do... But nobody wants a wife who can't give them an heir."

Sybil sat on the bed next to her sister and clasped Mary's hands. "Look, you'll find someone. And when you do, you'll know they want you for who you are. Not just... as something to produce heirs for them and simper while hanging on their arm. Because you're so much more than that."

Mary laughed hesitantly. "You're a darling, Sybil. If only I could believe you... Let's go to Edith's room and watch her preen."

* * *

The morning coat was incredibly uncomfortable, as was Matthew. He stood in the corner of the library, a glass of champagne in his hand. He knew no one, and as such had no one to talk to.

Sybil spotted him across the room. She didn't know exactly who she was, but she had a feeling, seeing as he was one of the few she did not know at the wedding. He wasn't bad looking, certainly. He was tall, with blond hair and blue eyes that were easily visible even from her vantage point across the room.

She took a few quick steps over to the corner of the library and cleared her throat. "Are you Mr. Crawley?"

"Yes..." he stuttered. "And you are..."

"Sybil," she replied, forcing a smile. "Sybil Crawley. Well, Lady Sybil Crawley, if my father's around." She took a quick glance over her shoulder. "But he's on the other side of the room. So it's just Sybil for now."

He didn't relax. "So, just Sybil, you're the girl I'm supposed to marry?" he asked. He wasn't disdainful, simply reserved.

"I hope I'm not a disappointment," she said, her tone tight. "I was to my governesses. I was appalling at French."

"I never had a knack for languages either," he replied, loosening slightly. "Thankfully I had a good teacher who helped me learn enough to graduate. But don't worry, you're not a disappointment."

Sybil flashed a grin; still forced, but not entirely so. "I'm glad. I'm assuming you're not exactly a fan of this arrangement either?"

"Not particularly. But I didn't get much say in the matter." Matthew sighed. "I'm not angry with you, if that's what you're worried about. You likely had even less say in this than I did."

"I'm afraid I had no say. But my sister was in a forced marriage, and I am to be as well."

Matthew's face grew puzzled. "This was a forced marriage? Your sister looked so happy..."

"Not Edith. She got to choose. But Mary, my oldest sister, she was married to the previous heir."

"So why am I not being forced into marrying her? Not that I have a problem with you' or anything, you're just so... young right now. Is it because she's already been married?"

"No, because..."

"Let me explain."

Sybil glanced over her shoulder and saw Mary walking toward them. "Lady Mary Crawley, I'm assuming you're Matthew?"

He nodded dumbly. His eyes were transfixed on her. "Yes, um.. That would be correct. I was just talking to your sister, wondering how we got into this mess."

"They don't want me to marry you because I can't have children. Five months ago, I went through childbirth, only to have my son dead after minutes and my womb destroyed beyond repair. If you were to marry a barren woman, it would mean no heir, and that would be a problem." Mary glanced away quickly. The bluntness of her speech hurt.

Matthew gave her a sympathetic smile, the only thing he could think of to alleviate the awkwardness. "So you've been cast aside?"

"I suppose I have been. In all honesty, I'm more annoyed about being cast aside for the inheritance of this whole place. It should have been mine, but it has to go to a male."

"The law can be stupid," Matthew said.

Sybil gave him a sideways glance. "You're a lawyer, aren't you?"

"Doesn't mean I always agree with the law," he replied, smirking slightly. "It's nice to meet you, Lady Mary. Your sister here seems quite sweet."

"She's a darling, if you treat her right. If you offend her, be prepared to have your head ripped off," Mary said, her tone casual but indulgent.

"Hey!" Sybil shouted indignantly.

Matthew smiled. "I'm glad, actually. I do hope we can at least be friends, Sybil. It will make life much more bearable."

"I agree," Sybil said. "I'm not a fan of this, but I don't want to hate the man I have to spend the rest of my life with."

It was a truce. It wasn't much, but it was a step, and both felt relief wash off of their chests. Mary observed this, and though she was happy for her sister, she felt a little bit jealous as well. "I think they're dancing already," she said, as the silence grew heavier.

"I suppose I should ask you to dance, shouldn't I?" Matthew asked shyly, holding out a hand to Sybil.

"Maybe you should," Sybil replied, taking the offer.

* * *

"Well, that's one daughter married," Robert said, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He, Cora, Sybil, and Mary were gathered in the library late at night, after all the guests had gone. "And what did you think of Matthew, Sybil?"

Sybil looked at her lap. "He was nice enough. I won't live in misery and squalor the rest of my days, and I don't think he'll treat me badly. But I'm still not liking it. I hate not having a choice."

"Welcome to the world of being a woman," Mary muttered.

"If you're going to be cynical, Mary, we don't need to hear it," Cora scolded.

Sybil sighed and leaned her head back against the couch. "Mary is right, though. Why shouldn't women have choices? Why can't they marry for love, or work if they want to, or choose their own path?"

"You've gotten Sybil into suffragist mode again," Robert groaned, shooting a glare at Mary. "Anyway, I've invited Matthew to live here, in the village. I'm thinking Crawley House, it's decent sized and no one lives there right now."

Cora nodded. "I suppose that's alright. But I don't see why he needs to live here right now, Patrick didn't until he married Mary."

"Mary and Patrick knew each other since they were children, but Sybil and Matthew barely know each other, and Matthew knows nothing about the running of the estate," Robert explained. "And besides, wouldn't you rather get to know this young man who is going to marry our daughter?"

Sybil stood up. "Really, I don't have to marry him... I mean, I'm perfectly happy to have a choice." Her voice dripped with sarcasm and Cora gave her a disapproving glance.

"You seemed to like him," Mary remarked.

"I was giving him a chance. I don't want to hate him," Sybil said, with a roll of her eyes. "Look, I don't hate him. But I don't love him the way I think a husband and wife should love each other, and I don't think I ever will."

Robert closed his eyes and leaned against the back of the couch. "You met him once, give it time."

"As long as he stays kind, I won't hate him. But I still would rather choose someone for myself."

Mary stood up and patted her sister's shoulder. "It's better than what I had. Come on, let's go to bed." She did not glance back as they left the room.

* * *

Matthew yawned as the train trundled back to Manchester, his eyes drooping. It had been a long day, and he was not really a party person. But it had been interesting, meeting the family that would soon call themselves his own.

"So you liked Sybil?" Isobel asked, prodding his out of his thoughts.

He shrugged. "She was nice enough. We'll get along. But it isn't what I wanted."

"To be fair, I don't think it's what she wants either, but she was still perfectly civil to you and me. She seems sweet."

"If both of us are against it, why force it?" Matthew asked. "It doesn't seem right."

Isobel shrugs. "It's the way most aristocratic marriages are, I think. And since you will be an earl, it seems you will have to be part of that system. I can't say I like it either."

"But you're still making me marry her," Matthew muttered.

"As much as I believe in standing up for your beliefs, I think this is one battle you shouldn't fight. I think it shows that you're amenable to the family, and that you're willing to work with them. They're giving you everything. The least you can do is console them that you're worth it."

Matthew groaned and stared out the window. "What if I'm not? I'm just a lawyer, it's no use thinking I'll be a good earl."

"Well you can certainly try."

* * *

 _So you're probably al wondering why I'm starting a new story if I'm so terrible at updating me other stories... This one is different. I wrote it for Nanowrimo, which, if you're not aware, is a challenge to write a 50,000 word novel in a month. I accomplished that, and this fanfiction is the result! So while it does need a lot of editing, I should be able to update consistently. That aside, this will bea Mary/Matthew and Sybil/Tom story, even if this chapter doesn't look like that. Thank you for reading, and please review!_


	2. Chapter 2

**September 1912**

He glanced around the new sitting room and sighed. It was nicer than the house in Manchester, he had to admit, but it didn't feel like home. It just felt cold and unwelcoming, just like the gray Yorkshire sky above.

"This is very nice. Don't you think so, Matthew?"

Matthew forced a quick smile at Molesley, their new butler and valet, who looked rather nervous in the corner, and replied, "It's quite nice," faking a cheer he certainly did not feel.

"Was there any more luggage coming along, sir?" Molesley asked.

"I believe there were a few more trunks," Isobel said. "They're supposed to come tomorrow, as far as I know."

Matthew nodded. "I'll go down to the station tomorrow."

"There's no need, sir, I can do it alone." Molesley insisted. "The men at the station are perfectly happy to help with the heavy lifting."

"I want to go," Matthew protested.

Isobel winked at Molesley. "One of the trunks has his books. He doesn't trust anyone with them, not even me."

"Mother..." Matthew sighed. But he didn't protest.

"However, one trunk did get here today, it's full of kitchen utensils for Mrs. Bird. I'm sure she'd be most grateful if you'd help her unpack," Isobel said. "Thank you Molesley, you're most helpful."

Once Molesley left, Matthew turned to his mother and groaned. "You know Mrs. Bird hates anyone messing with her kitchen."

"Molesley is here for a reason," Isobel said firmly. "You must allow him to do his job, Matthew."

"Even if that job is entirely superfluous? I do not need someone to dress me like a child! That's not the life I want to live. This whole thing is entirely ridiculous. What if I'm a terrible person who they hate? Then will they want me to marry their daughter? Clearly they want to make me into one of them, but they're wrong. And I don't see how anyone could love this lifestyle, it's completely idiotic!"

Footsteps approached, and an announcement came. "Lady Mary Crawley," Molesley said.

Matthew turned around and saw her and his mouth hung open. How stupid he was. How much she must resent him.

"Lady Mary! I believe we've met once," Isobel said, stepping forward. "At your sister's wedding,"

"Of course," Mary said cooly. "I was sent down to greet you, and ask if you'd come up for dinner. Unless you're too tired."

Isobel smiled at her. "Of course we'll come. Won't you stay and have some tea?"

"No, thank you," Mary replied. "I've understood perfectly that such customs are idiotic." She shot a look at Matthew. "Anyway, I've things to see to. I suppose we'll see you at eight."

Matthew sighed and followed her out the door. "Look, I didn't mean you were stupid, not in the slightest," he protested. "I'm sorry."

"Sybil's the one who will be sorry," Mary replied, mounting her horse. "It's all rather idiotic, I'd say. Luckily, it isn't my problem."

Matthew looked at his feet, his cheeks turning red. "Please don't tell Sybil. I wasn't thinking, I..."

"Well, we'll have to see if I like you enough. I'm very protective of her, I won't let her down," Mary replied, kicking the flanks of her horse and setting off.

He stared after her, his mouth wide open.

* * *

"Edith and Anthony are coming tonight too," Mary said, fixing her earrings as she glanced in the mirror.

Sybil held her breath as Anna tightened the corset. "Everyone wants to interrogate my fiancé, it seems."

"Well, maybe it won't be so awkward for them. You know, Matthew has a very low view of the aristocracy. He was making his opinion of our class very clear when I walked in to invite them to dinner," Mary commented.

"I don't have a high view of the institution either," Sybil replied cooly.

Mary stood up from the vanity and patted her hair one last time. "Sometimes Sybil, I worry that you're too accepting. Perhaps it's good that you aren't choosing your own husband. Who knows, you'd probably choose a footman or a chauffeur."

"Maybe I would," Sybil replied. "Would that be so awful?"

With a roll of her eyes, Mary patted her hair and said, "Do I really need to explain that to you?"

Sybil didn't answer.

"Anyway, I'm heading down. Are you coming?"

Sybil shook her head. "I'll be down in a minute. I still have a few things I need to do." She tugged on her gloves to make a point. "Go on, I'm fine."

"Of course you are, darling. Good night."

Anna pulled out a hairpiece and settled it in Sybil's hair. "You look lovely, milady. Are you nervous for tonight?"

"I've already met Mr. Crawley, so there's nothing to be nervous about. I'm just... well, resigned. What Mary said, about me marrying a footman, would certainly be true if I loved him enough. And the problem is, I don't want to feel loyalty toward Mr. Crawley when I can't give him love he deserves. I want the love I deserve."

"Love is difficult, milady," Anna said. "Sometimes it's a choice between how much you love your family and how much you love the man you love."

Sybil nodded. " Honestly, I just want to get along. I want to be on friendly terms. Because Mary and Patrick weren't, and Mary was utterly miserable. I can't do that,"

"All you can do is try."

* * *

The first time he was in the great hall, it had been so full of people that he hadn't fully realized how large it was. Now he stood in awe, and a chill ran down his spine. This was supposed to be his home. It would be more like living in a museum than living in a house.

And there were servants, rows of them, standing there to great him. The sensation was incredibly odd. He wasn't unfamiliar with servants, they had a cook and a maid, as his mother hated cooking and housework, but nothing else. This was a veritable army of all kinds of servants.

"What a welcoming committee," was the first thing he stupidly said. He could feel the judgmental eyes of the family on him, except for those of Sybil's. She was smiling softly, trying to encourage him. As if she was trying to say that he was doing alright.

He wasn't quite aware of what was happening until dinner began. The food was good, of course, but much richer than he was used to, and after two courses he felt like he could not eat any more. They were all nice enough, and the conversation was nothing but polite superficial questions, about how Manchester was different than Downton and a debate on the benefits of city living, but it was nothing important.

The fish course came around, and Robert's question took Matthew by surprise, although it wasn't entirely unacceptable. "So what are you planning to do around here?"

"Well, I did manage to find a job in Ripon."

There was silence all around the table and Matthew felt all eyes on him. He wanted to shrink under the table.

"A job?"

He nodded hesitantly. "I'm surprised they took me on such short notice..." he began, hoping that was the reason for their surprise. "It's at a firm there, Harvell and Carter. I'm starting tomorrow."

"You know I mean to involve you in the running of the estate..." Robert said.

"Of course," Matthew replied, trying to fake a confidence that he didn't feel. "There's plenty of time for that in the evenings and on the weekends."

The Dowager put a hand up. "What...what is a weekend?"

"Granny, it's simply Saturday and Sunday, the days when most people don't have to work," Sybil explained, shooting Matthew a sympathetic smile. "I think it's good for Matthew to have a job, if he wants to. I'm sure he'll get sick of us if he spends every waking moment here."

Mary took a sip of her wine. "I see, you want to get rid of him."

"No, not at all!"

"I understand what you mean, Sybil," Matthew said. "I'd feel bored, I think, if I didn't have work."

Robert squinted at him "Do you really like it? It seems most people only work because they need to survive."

"I'm very lucky to enjoy my job, although I'm sure it sounds frightfully boring to all of you," Matthew said.

Isobel decided that this was an opportune time to join the conversation. "I actually was wondering what there is around here. Would you happen to have a hospital in the village?"

"Actually, we do," Cora said. "It's just a small cottage hospital, but it's very well equipped. I'd be happy to give you a tour this week, if you'd like."

"That would be wonderful. You know I was a nurse during the war? And my dear husband was a doctor."

Sybil smiled. "I think that's wonderful."

* * *

She took a sip of her tea and almost fell into a stupor again. Why Cora had dragged her along to tea was beyond her. Violet and Isobel were arguing, as it seemed they had been doing from the first moment they met, and Cora was trying to mediate, but unsuccessfully.

"What do you say, Sybil?" Violet asked.

Sybil froze, unsure what they were talking about. "I think that my opinion isn't valid on the subject..." she replied hesitantly, hoping they didn't care.

Violet snorted, but it was as ladylike as ever. "It's odd, you always seem to think your opinion is valid."

Sybil sighed and shook her head, hoping for a diversion so that she could get away from this inane conversation.

Thankfully, a diversion did come. It came in the form of a cheerful, "Hello, Mother," from the hallway. Matthew entered the room and upon seeing the company added, "Oh, and Cousin Cora, Cousin Violet, Cousin Sybil. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You're home early," Isobel said.

Matthew nodded. "I finished up at the office early, so I decided to come back here and organize my study. Unless you'd like me to stay and have tea..."

"No, go ahead. I know you need to do it," Isobel said. "Besides, our conversation wouldn't interest you."

"I'm expected to pretend though, aren't I?" he asked with a smirk before leaving.

Sybil sighed and looked after him with a hint of jealousy in her eyes. She looked back to Isobel, who was motioning toward the hallway with an encouraging smile.

"Excuse me," Sybil said quietly, leaving the room, trying to draw as little attention as possible. She did not look back.

She wandered down the hallway, peeking into the few rooms there. At the end of the hall, in the corner, there was a door to a small room. She looked inside and saw Matthew sitting on the floor, with a trunk full of books by his side.

"Hello," she said shyly, standing at the door.

Matthew looked up and smiled. "You managed to get free."

"Sort of," she replied, her cheeks beginning to glow red. "Your mother kind of released me, although Granny is going to be mad at me. But frankly, I couldn't tell you what they talked about. It's terribly dull, I'm afraid."

"What I'm doing isn't terribly interesting either, I'm just sorting through my books, and shelving them," he said, holding up a thick tome. "You're welcome to help though. I'll warn you, my system is somewhat complicated."

Sybil sat on the floor next to him and peered into the trunk. "How did you fit so many books in there? It doesn't look that big."

"I had to get all my books here somehow, didn't I?" He smiled and took out a thinner book. "I'll need a shelf for the Shakespeare, which one do you think? Up high, or lower? I'm keeping the law books in the middle because they're a pain to get from up top."

"You've thought a lot about this," Sybil said, taking out another Shakespeare. "How many of these Shakespeares do you have?"

Matthew ducked his head and took out a few more. "All of them..."

"All of them! I don't think we have half of them in our library!"

"My father gave them to me. Every year, I'd get one for Christmas and one for my birthday, since I was five. They started with the comedies, and they would read them to me until I could read them for myself and understand them. When my father died, my mother gave me the rest of them that I hadn't gotten yet. We read them together and it was hard, but it also helped us heal because we knew he was there with us in spirit."

Sybil smiled. "I think that's wonderful. How about this shelf?" she asked, pointing to one nearer to the upper middle. When Matthew nodded, she picked up Romeo and Juliet and Twelfth Night and placed them on the shelf. "I had a governess who thought little girls should read nothing but the Bible. I just think she was against girls reading at all, for whatever reason. So Mary and I would sneak down to the library, pick out books, and hide them under our pillows and read them by moonlight in the window. Otherwise, I probably wouldn't have been much of a reader."

"I hope she didn't last long," Matthew said, his eyes widening.

"No, but then again, none of our governesses lasted very long," Sybil replied, placing a few more books of the shelf. "They didn't want to deal with all the fighting between Mary and Edith."

Matthew pulled out another law book and stuck in on the middle shelf. "I suppose you were an angel. Besides the book stealing, of course."

"I was rather an angel," Sybil replied proudly. "Of course, that was probably because I could blame everything on Mary and Edith, so naturally I looked like an angel."

"I was an only child, I didn't have anyone to blame things on," Matthew said. He pulled out another book, a dusty green hardcover. Most of Matthew's books were very old, it seemed. "Do you think I should put Virgil with Homer or Ovid?"

"Do you have enough ancient Greek and Roman literature to justify two separate categories?"

Matthew looked at his feet. "Maybe..."

"I didn't realize you loved reading so much," Sybil said, laughing slightly. "But I suppose there isn't much country sport in Manchester."

He shook his head. "Fair enough. I fear the day I'm summoned for a hunt. I'm not sure if I'll be able to stay on the horse."

"There might be one next month..." Sybil muttered, looking up at him and trying to avoid laughing.

"Oh no," he moaned, putting his head in his hands.

Sybil patted his shoulder, trying to suppress a laugh. "Don't worry, I'll get Mary to teach you. She's very good."

"She doesn't seem to like me..."

"Well..." Sybil said, unsure how to respond. "To be fair, you are sort of stealing what she thinks should rightfully be hers. Of course, it isn't your fault, not really, but there you have it. But anyway, I'll get her to do it. Mary will do anything for me."

Matthew laughed and took out another book. "You really are a spoiled youngest child. But I'd be grateful, especially if I'm expected to participate in some sort of hunt and actually know what I'm doing..."

They sat in silence for a while, taking books out of the trunk and placing them on the shelves, until the trunk was empty, the shelves full, and the room felt like home to Matthew. Maybe that's what Crawley House was lacking. It wasn't the house that was the problem, it was the things that made the old house in Manchester so special to him. Like his books.

It didn't seem long before Isobel poked her head into the study. "Matthew, Sybil? Cousin Cora and Cousin Violet are leaving now. Sybil, you should go."

Sybil nodded and stood up, dusting off her skirt. "Goodbye. Thanks for saving me from another hour of dreadful boredom," she said, smiling.

Isobel winked at Sybil. "Of course. I understand, my parents were missionaries. Dreadfully boring conversations were a daily occurrence. I hope you'll come by for tea again, though."

"I think I'll have to, considering your lovely hospitality," Sybil answered. "You're coming for dinner on Saturday, correct?"

"Yes, we'll be there," Isobel said, smiling as Sybil left the room. She turned to Matthew and looked at the shelves. "You've organized quickly."

Matthew closed the trunk and pushed it toward the wall. "I had a helper."

"Do you like her?"

"Please stop prodding me on that," Matthew groaned. "She's sweet, although she is rather young and naive."

Isobel sat in the chair in the study. "She's sixteen, that's the way it might be for a while. But you like her?"

"I wish you'd stop pushing me."

"You've always been the kind of person who wants peace, why are you so against this if it will bring peace between you and the family?"

Matthew opened the door. "I just wish you'd let me live my own life! I'm tired of being a pawn. And I know they might not care how I feel about any of this, but you're my mother. You should.

* * *

 _I'm back! It looks like i'll probably be able to update about every 2 weeks. :) I was competely blown away by the support you guys showed for this story! Thank you all so much, especially those who reviewed! Some of you guys were concerned that Sybil and Matthew were going to end up together, and that Tom wasn't going to show up. While as a writer, I don't wish to spoil anything for you, do keep in mind that I'm a Mary/Matthew and Sybil/Tom shipper, and Tom doesn't show up until the fourth episode in canon. :) I love you all, keep the reviews coming, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!_


	3. Chapter 3

Mary set down her tea cup and shot a confused glance at Sybil. "You want me to teach him how to ride?"

"Matthew would rather not embarrass himself at the hunt," Sybil explained. "So, since you're so good at it, I thought you could teach him."

"Why not get Lynch to teach him? He'll be a much more patient teacher than I am." Mary picked up her tea cup again and took another sip. "Anyway, who's to say he actually wants to hunt? I wouldn't be surprised if he'd rather stay home and read."

Sybil giggled. "I'll admit, he does have a lot of books. But we were talking about it when I went with Mama to Crawley House to have tea. Mama and Granny and Cousin Isobel were being dreadfully boring so I went with Matthew to sort through his books He owns literally every play Shakespeare has written, and so many thick law books..."

"And this is the man you're supposed to marry?" Mary asked, with a disgusted scowl. "Honestly, what is Papa even thinking?"

"Is that fair?" Sybil asked. "Patrick wasn't so great either. Anyway, I think it would be nice for you to teach him. And that way you can scare him into being nice for me. I did warn him you'd do anything for me..."

Mary sighed and shook her head. "You're terribly spoiled, Sybil."

Sybil simply replied with a bright smile. "So will you do it?"

"I give in too easily," Mary groaned. "Alright, fine, I will. But believe me, I'm only doing it to protect you."

"I don't need protection," Sybil replied with a big grin. "But I'm happy you're willing to provide it."

Mary rolled her eyes and poured another cup of tea. "Do warn him, he doesn't quite know what he's getting in to. Especially if he's never ridden a horse. How long do I have to get a city boy into shape for a hunt?"

"Two weeks, remember. The hunt is in two weeks," Sybil replied. "Also, Mama told me to tell you we're having quite a bit of company. Evelyn Napier is coming, apparently."

"Yes, I told her to invite him. I know he enjoys these kind of things, and he's been a bit down since his mother died. At least he'll know what he's talking about," Mary said. "As I'd imagine, Matthew Crawley does not."

* * *

He approached carefully, and did not make a sound. He was fascinated by the sight before him. Mary was gently stroking the mane of one of the beautiful horses, a sight he would not have expected to see. She had seemed so harsh toward him, but this was a different side of her. Maybe this was the true Mary.

Matthew observed this for a while, until he decided that he really needed to let Mary know that he had arrived. "Cousin Mary..." he said softly.

She turned on her heel quickly. "Cousin Matthew. Are you prepared to ride? What exactly are you wearing?"

"Well, I didn't have anything appropriate for riding, so Molesley found the next best thing I had, which was just tweed walking clothes that I've never worn. I'm honestly not sure why I have them but anyway..."

Mary sighed and pulled a saddle off of the stable wall. "You'll need to get some made if you are planning to come to the hunt."

"I'd better do that then," he said.

"I'm surprised you even want to come, since you find our traditions so idiotic," Mary said pointedly. "Are we changing you now?"

Matthew shrugged. "It's kind of an interest in peace. I've accepted it, I think, although I'm still not thrilled about it. And I feel terrible for taking what really should be yours. So this is a sort of peace offering, I guess?"

"So we're not as bad as you thought we would be, and so you're putting up with us because you'll get the money?"

"You fundamentally misunderstand me."

Mary shook her head and took the lead of the horse in her hands. "Is it necessary for me to have a deep understanding of your inner motivations?"

"Considering one day you'll be my sister in law, I'd rather you not believe I'm only here for the money and the estate. In fact, I'm only here because your family wanted me to be here. I would have been perfectly happy staying in Manchester and going on with my life, but your father wanted me to come."

"That's because he doesn't want the estate driven into the ground when he dies!" She raised her voice, something Matthew would not have expected of her, and lead the horse out of the stable.

He followed after her, trying to catch up but was blocked by the horse. "Mary, please! Just listen to me!"

Mary pointed to the saddle. "Get on."

He followed her instructions and hoisted himself onto the horse. "He's rather large, isn't he?"

"Good, you'll fall much more easily," she said, her quiet anger barely disguised.

"Why do you hate me so much?"

Mary touched the flanks of the horse. "Kick him, here. Pull the reins in whichever direction you want to go. You're lucky I'm letting you use Diamond, he's the best trained out of any of them. He won't give you any trouble."

Matthew followed her instructions, but asked again, "Really, why are you so against me?"

"I could ask why you're so against me, considering you think my lifestyle is idiotic," Mary replied. "Watch out, you're heading straight into the house. Turn! No, turn more! He doesn't respond to tiny movements."

"Look, that was just a stupid comment I made. I was frustrated, can you forgive me?"

"I'm still not sure I want you marrying my sister. I'd rather have someone who values her, instead of valuing his own ideals," Mary replied.

Matthew gingerly dug his heels into the horse's sides. "It isn't my choice to marry Sybil, you know. I'm not going to protest..."

"For the sake of keeping peace?"

"Yes, and also because Sybil's rather sweet, and I can imagine living a life with her, although it isn't my first choice."

Mary leaned against the stable wall. "So if someone better came along would you take them?"

"It depends," Matthew said, slowly traveling toward her. "If I really loved her, then yes. It isn't worth family peace for a life that's only second best."

Mary didn't have an answer for that. She pressed her lips together and turned away, saying,"I think you're ready to try the paddock."

* * *

The morning of the hunt dawned cold and clear, and Matthew buzzed with excitement as he walked up to the house. Even though he and Mary weren't on the best of terms, she was an excellent teacher, and he was confident that he was not going to fall off the horse during the hunt, which was more than enough for him.

When he reached the house, there was already a crowd in front. Robert smiled as Matthew approached, yelling, "Lynch has a horse for you if you'd like to saddle up. We'll be off in a few minutes."

Matthew smiled and went toward the groom, who held the lead of a horse in his hand. He was about to climb on when he noticed Sybil standing at the front of the house. "You're not riding?"

"No," she replied ruefully, quickly striding toward him. "I don't really want to go. I'm a little bit afraid, to be honest. One of my friends nearly was trampled at a hunt like this, I've rather lost my taste for them."

"What an awful thing to tell me at my first hunt," Matthew said. "Now I'm a little bit scared."

Sybil shook her head. "She wasn't hurt, but I'm not a very skilled equestrian, and I'd rather not risk anything."

"Neither am I, but I'm going to try." A horn blew, and Matthew quickly got up onto the horse. "I guess I'll see you afterward then, provided I don't get trampled."

"I told Mary to make sure you didn't."

Matthew glanced over toward Mary and snorted. "She seems enamored over there. Is that Evelyn Napier who you were talking about?"

Sybil stood on her toes and followed his gaze toward Mary. "No, I think that's the friend from Turkey that he was planning to bring..."

"Hmm," Matthew said, digging his heels into the horse. "Looks like they're heading off, I better catch up." He held on for dear life and made his horse go slightly faster, although his lack of confidence prevented him from going nearly as fast as Mary and her Turkish friend.

* * *

The dinner table was rather full, with more people around than Matthew had seen. He wasn't quite sure what to say. He was at the opposite end of the table from Sybil, so he had no one to talk to who actually enjoyed his company. Instead, he was seated next to Mary, who had said nothing to him all day except for making snide comments about his lack of riding skills. And Mary was flirting with the Turkish man, whose name, he had learned, was Kemal Pamuk.

"Turkish culture is very interesting, I must say," Mary simpered. "I'd love to travel, I've rarely been to the continent."

Pamuk raised a glass toward her and winked. "You seem like a traveler to me. How tiring it must be to live in one place and never see the rest of the world. You must come to Turkey someday, I'm sure you would love it."

Matthew turned his attention away from their flirting and to his food. When he looked up again, he saw his mother looking rather pale across the table. "Mother, are you feeling quite alright?" he asked quietly, hoping not to draw too much attention.

"In fact, I'm not really..." she said. "Excuse me, I'm feeling rather ill. Might there be somewhere I could lie down?"

Cora pushed back her chair and all the men stood. "Of course. I'll put you in a guest room. Should we call for Doctor Clarkson?"

"No, I'll be alright. Just a little bit feverish is all," Isobel said.

Matthew sat back down, shooting a concerned glance toward Sybil. His mother was rarely ever sick. But he turned his attention back to his food and hoped for the best.

* * *

After a terribly awkward discussion on the Albanian talks, which Matthew had no context for, the men rejoined the women and Matthew went straight to Cora, a worried look crossing his features. "Is Mother alright?" he asked.

"I haven't been up to check on her, but I'll show you up to her room," Cora said. "She didn't seem too bad. Come, though."

Cora led Matthew through the corridors. He had only been upstairs once, when Sybil took it upon herself to give him a complete tour of the house. It had taken two hours just to see every room. Cora led him to a small bedroom in a hallway Matthew recognized as being the one the bedrooms of Mary and Sybil were in. Perhaps he wasn't supposed to know that, but Sybil hadn't worried much about telling him. She was either liberated or naive, or possibly both.

"Isobel," Cora asked, knocking on the door. "Are you feeling better?"

No response came. Cora knocked again, but there was still no response. She opened the door finally, and saw Isobel asleep in the bed.

Matthew walked over and felt her forehead. "She is rather feverish. I think we should call for a doctor..."

"Very well, it might be best," Cora said. "Stay here, I'll get Doctor Clarkson."

Matthew sat with Isobel for the better part of an hour, sighing in relief when Cora came in with Doctor Clarkson.

Clarkson felt her forehead, and she began to stir, finally waking up. "Mrs. Crawley, how are you feeling?" Clarkson asked.

"Alright. A little bit hot," Isobel replied.

He nodded, performing a few more tests before turning to Matthew. "It's a virus, I believe, it's been passing around the village. I've had a few cases in the hospital, she probably picked it up from there. I'd advise you to keep her here tonight, but with fluids and rest, she should be alright."

"Thank you," Matthew said. Clarkson took one last glance at Isobel and went on his way.

Cora gave a tight smile to Matthew. "Perhaps you should stay here tonight as well."

"Yes, I think that would work best. Thank you for your hospitality, and I'm sorry to impose on you like this. I know you already have guests."

"It's not a problem. We have so many rooms, why not use them?"

* * *

His eyes opened, and he shivered. The room was still completely dark. He blinked, adjusting his eyes, and tried to settle back under the covers. However, he still couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Why had he woken up?

Matthew buried himself under the covers again. The room was nice, of course, but it felt large and imposing. And he could not get back to sleep.

His thoughts drifted to his mother. How was she doing? Was she alright? Maybe that was why he had woken. A subconscious worry for his mother's health. Clarkson had said there was nothing to worry about. But was he right?

The covers were kicked off. He got out of bed and checked the time on his watch. It was a little bit after one in the morning. Was she alright? He really needed to check on her.

The door squeaked when he opened it, and the gallery was silent. It was a long way from the bachelor's corridor down to where his mother's room was. He softly padded along the gallery and tried to remember which one his mother's room was.

He was nearly to the room he believed to be his mother's when he heard voices coming from another room. They were soft, but they were cries of, "No, no, please no! This isn't right! You need to leave."

His breath caught in his throat.

Matthew knew it wasn't proper to try and get into the room of whoever it was, but he also knew he needed to stop whatever was happening. So he did the only thing he could think of. He knocked.

"Yes, hello?" a strained voice came from inside. He could hear a struggle, and then the door opened, to reveal Mary, flushed, her perfect hair a mess, and her eyes full of tears. "Was there something you needed?"

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded, but her eyes were filled with fear. "Perfectly. Only why are you asking?"

"I heard shouting."

"No you didn't."

Matthew pushed forward into the room. He knew it wasn't proper, but he didn't care. He was concerned, and his concern overrode his wish for propriety. "You're lying, Mary. You're not alright. And you don't have to be scared of me. If there's someone in here, you have my word that I won't tell a soul. Is there someone here with you?"

Mary nodded again, her eyes wide and terrified.

"Who?"

From behind the door stepped a dark imposing figure. Kemal Pamuk. He had an angry scowl on his face, and at the sight of him Mary looked terrified.

Matthew clenched his fist. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"She asked me to come here."

"I swear I didn't!" Mary said, her tone serious, her eyes pleading.

Pamuk smirked. "Of course you did! What else would that ridiculous flirting at the dinner table be? You're young, you're widowed, it's of no significance to society. Of course you want me."

"I'd advise you go back to your room, Mr. Pamuk," Matthew said quietly, although anger was flashing in his eyes.

"Or what? Why have you taken it upon yourself to become her protector?"

Matthew stepped forward. "She's my fiancee's sister. Sybil told me Mary would protect her from harm. I thought I'd return the favor."

"With what power?"

"Well, as I've heard, your main reason for coming here is to get England to take your side when it comes to the Albanian peace talks. But there are ways to prevent that. And as a lawyer, I have the power and the contacts to potentially do so. That's not something you want to risk," Matthew said coldly. "Get out."

Obviously Albanian peace was far more important to Pamuk than Mary, since he scurried away, leaving Mary and Matthew alone.

"Are you alright?" Matthew asked again.

Mary let out a shuddering breath. "I think... now I am." She cast her eyes down to the floor. "Thank you," she said hesitantly. "This is hardly proper, but..."

"Would you like to go down to the library to recover, then, or would you rather I leave you alone?"

"I'd rather go downstairs," she replied quietly, obviously still slightly shaken.

He opened the door fully and led her down the stairs and into the library. It was dark and cold, and the fire was little but embers, but Mary instantly relaxed as soon as she sunk into one of the big red couches.

"What happened?" Matthew asked, sitting on the couch across from her. "I don't believe you invited him."

Mary shook her head vehemently. "Of course I didn't. That would be social suicide."

"Then did he force himself on you?"

"No."

Matthew stared at the embers, puzzled. "He came in, uninvited, looking to take you as a lover. I heard you protest. It didn't sound like you had a choice in the matter."

"I would have let him," Mary said, her eyes beginning to tear up. "If anyone found out, it would have been my fault anyway, that's the way our society is. And I'm widowed, and barren, so there's little worry of consequence. I didn't want to, but..."

"He forced himself on you," Matthew said firmly. "It doesn't matter what you would have done. He coerced you into it, without your full consent."

Mary gave him a weak smile through her tears. "You've a very modern view of things."

"All the better for you, then," he replied. "Would it have troubled you if you had taken him... if he had forced you further?"

"Of course it would have," Mary said. "Thank you for intervening... It was rather frightening, really. He thought that since I flirted with him, I belonged to him. Which is completely and utterly wrong."

Matthew nodded. "He's a horrible man. I promise I won't speak a word of this to anybody. Not even Sybil."

"One question I do have; could you really prevent an alliance?"

Matthew shrugged. "Maybe? Probably not. But I don't know his interests beyond that, so I may have exaggerated a little it. Or a lot."

"Quite a bit then. You must think rather highly of your skills of persuasion."

"I'm a lawyer, it's my job to persuade people. And are you really so critical of the skills which saved you?"

Mary shook her head. "I'm very grateful."

"Then I have done my duty."

"Is that all this is to you? Duty?"

"You're my family now. If I am to be part of the family, I want to play my part."

A crash from downstairs made both jump.

"The scullery maid must already be awake. We should probably go upstairs, then," Mary cautioned. "The rest of the servants will be up soon."

"Alright," Matthew said, standing up. He opened the door and Mary followed him through. When they reached her room, he gave her a tight smile. "Does this change things?"

She nodded. "You're certainly worthy of Sybil," she replied. "Good night, Matthew." Mary opened the door to her room, slipped inside, and shut the door behind her.

He stared at the door for a few seconds before remembering what his original motive for getting up was. He stopped in front of his mother's bedroom and opened the door quietly. Relieved, he saw her sleeping calmly, her breathing even. She was alright. Mary was alright. He could sleep.

* * *

"Milady, I don't suppose you've heard the news?" Anna pulled out a day dress and turned her head toward Mary.

Mary shook her head. "What news?"

"Kemal Pamuk. He died last night," Anna replied.

"Oh..." Mary gasped. "He seemed so young and healthy."

Anna nodded. "It's a terrible shame. He was so handsome too. They called up Clarkson, and he thought it was a heart problem."

Mary was silent throughout dressing, thinking of what had happened. What if she had taken him? Would he have died while in her bed? How would she have dealt with that? For a second time, she felt a pang of gratefulness for Matthew's intervention.

As she walked down the stairs, she saw Matthew standing in the great hall, staring at a painting. As he heard footsteps approach, he looked up toward Mary. "I suppose you've heard," he said. "I'm a little bit in shock, I must say."

"Aren't we all," Mary replied, before getting closer to him. "I don't know what's worse; the shock of him dying or the relief that he didn't die in my bed."

Matthew gave her a sympathetic smile. "It's terrible of course, but I can't say I was incredibly fond of him."

"No, neither was I," Mary replied. "But I am sorry. It's not right for anyone that young to just die like that, even if they force themselves on others. How is your mother?"

"She's doing alright, the virus apparently runs its course quickly, she should be able to go home tomorrow. She's terrible at being a patient, though. So we'll see how that goes today," he replied.

Mary allowed herself to hesitantly laugh. "To be fair, I'm a terrible patient as well."

Sybil rounded the corner of the stairs and saw Matthew and Mary laughing together. She sighed in relief. It would hurt if her sister and her husband did not get along. She too was shocked by the death of Kemal Pamuk, but she was happy to see that family relations were getting better every day.

"Did the hunt make you two like each other?" she asked.

Mary and Matthew laughed again. "Probably," Mary answered. "He does look rather funny on a horse."

* * *

 _Thank you all so much for reading! I'd like to express my gratitude for Klarinette49, who has been betaing all my chapters and making sure I don't do anything stupid or OOC or anything like that. :) Please review, it's very encouraging to writers!_


	4. Chapter 4

It was a big house, much bigger than the one he had worked for previously. He knocked on the door that was supposed to enter into the servants hall. It was answered by a maid with fiery hair, who gave him a quick smile. "Are you the new chauffeur?"

"I'm applying, anyway," he replied, holding out a hand. "Tom Branson."

She looked slightly surprised, though whether it was from his forwardness or his Irish accent he didn't know. But she took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. "Gwen Dawson. I'm a maid here. I'll show you to Mr. Carson."

Gwen led Tom down the hall into a small room where a butler with a stern grey face was pouring wine through a decanter. "Mr. Carson, the new chauffeur is here," Gwen announced, nodding and ducking out of the room again.

"Mr. Branson?" Carson pointed to a chair in front of his desk. "Please, take a seat. So you've come from Ireland? The woman you worked for gave you a good reference."

"She was a dear," he said, "although there wasn't much for me to do. She was the only one, and she had a single car, and she never let me go above 20 miles an hour."

Carson shook his head. "I should think that is fast enough."

"Perhaps. But I'll adhere to whatever the family may ask, although I'm not willing to put lives at risk."

"You seem very sure of yourself."

Tom shrugged. "I'm a good driver, and it's my job to drive people."

"Well, yes..." Carson did not look exactly pleased, but he had nothing more to say in response. "If Lord Grantham is not busy, I'll have you meet him and he can make a final decision. I see no issue with you, and we've hardly had many replies to the advertisement."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson..." Tom replied.

Carson nodded, though no smile touched his face. He was about to stand up when a dark head popped through the door.

"Mr. Carson? Oh, are you busy?" Sybil Crawley opened the door completely and stepped into the room. "I'm sorry if I'm keeping you away from something, but have you seen Gwen? I was needing her and she didn't respond to the bell."

With a disapproving shake of the head, Carson stood up. "Perhaps she took ill. I know Anna wasn't feeling well either. Let me check with Mrs. Hughes." He left the room, leaving Sybil alone with Tom.

"Are you the new chauffeur?" she asked brightly. "I'm Sybil. I'm the youngest of the family."

Tom nodded cautiously. "I'm applying for the job. I'm Tom Branson."

"I suppose I'm not supposed to call you Tom, but as you don't officially have the job yet, I suppose it's alright. As long as you don't mind," Sybil said.

"No, not at all. In fact, it's rather nice to be treated like a human," Tom replied flippantly.

Sybil's face fell. "Do we really treat you so badly?"

"Aristocrats in general, yes. I don't know about your family. Even if the rest of your family does, I get the distinct feeling you won't," Tom said.

"Good. Because you are humans, and anyone who treats you like you're not isn't worth your service. Even if you do get paid..." Sybil sighed. "Sometimes I think about the way things are and wonder why they are so messed up. Why some people have everything and some have nothing. It's odd, really."

Tom smirked at her innocence. "It's more than odd, it's downright unfair."

"You're right, really," Sybil said. Before she could speak further, Carson entered the room again.

"Gwen is apparently airing out the guest rooms used in the hunt, but she's been sent to your room, so I suggest you meet her up there," he said, opening the door wider, stepping out with Sybil and closing it behind him "Is there an issue with Mr. Branson that I should be aware of?"

Sybil's eyes widened. "Not at all. In fact, I rather like him?"

"Very well, milady. A word of warning, however, it might be best to show him how things work around here?"

"In terms of what?"

Carson sighed. "I'm not sure Mr. Branson quite knows his place, and you'd do well to encourage him to not converse with the family as if they were friends."

Sybil opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came to her mind before Carson went back into the butler's pantry. She turned on her heel to go upstairs.

Gwen was standing by Sybil's bed when Sybil reached her bedroom. "Milady? You wanted me?"

"Yes, I did. I know you were saying that you wanted to become a secretary. I personally think that is a wonderful ambition, and I'd like to help you with it," Sybil said.

Gwen stared at Sybil in confusion and slight disbelief. "You want to help me become a secretary?"

"Of course I do! Did I not make that clear?"

"It's just so... odd, I suppose. You're not supposed to help your maid find another job, that's not the way it works."

Sybil shrugged. "I've always had odd ideas. Luckily for me, they usually work."

"But how could you pull this off. I'm sorry, milady, but a seventeen year old who has never worked a day in her life might not have any resources to help with..."

Sybil showed Gwen a devious smile. "I have contacts..."

* * *

"Wait, what do you want me to do?" Matthew asked, squinting at Sybil. Their corner of the drawing room flickered with firelight.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Just keep an eye out for secretary positions. Especially at your office. And tell us if you see anything. And maybe offer Gwen some tips on interviewing since she quite rightly pointed out that I have no real working experience beyond charities and the like. But you do work, so you would know."

"So she's your maid, right?"

Sybil nodded.

"But you're looking to find a different job for her..."

"Yes, something that she will be really good at, and something that she truly wants to do. She's taken this course. I believe that she can take this path."

Matthew sighed. "But she's a good maid too, right?"

"Yes, but she can excel so much more. It's not right for us to force her into a life that isn't right for her."

A puzzled look still remained on Matthew's face. "Look, I see what you're trying to do, but I'm still a little bit confused as to why. Is it just a middle class thing, or do people like keeping good servants in the upper classes too?"

"That's a universal thing. It's pure logic."

"Yes, well, why are wanting to find another job for a good servant?"

Sybil looked him straight in the eye. "What if you weren't a lawyer? What if you were only a footman, but you had gone to law school and you wanted to find a job as a lawyer. What if the only thing between you and becoming a lawyer was the lack of someone to support you? That's what Gwen's problem is. And I'm going to be the person who supports her. So that she can follow her dream."

"You should be a lawyer, Sybil," Matthew said. "You craft a strong argument."

Sybil grinned, but her face quickly became serious again. "So do you agree? And will you help?"

"I'll do what I can," he said, taking a sip from his coffee. "I can't guarantee you anything, but I will certainly try."

"Thank you!" Sybil replied, ecstatic. "I'm certain Gwen will be incredibly grateful!"

Matthew forced a smile. "I certainly hope so."

* * *

Mary looked over the booths at the fair with a familiar sense of melancholy. It had been a long time since she was a child and carefree at the village fair. Now, everything seemed to carry baggage. The bottles of beer were as dark as Pamuk's eyes when he stared at her with frightening desire. The corn sold was the color of Matthew's hair. Everything was a reminder of what had almost been, what she had almost become. And she missed the days when it wasn't.

She spotted a blond head weaving carefully between crowds of people, and Mary soon realized that he was guiding a bicycle. Naturally, it was Matthew, and he approached her slowly, a sheepish smile forming on his face as he got nearer. "I didn't realize it was the fair today, I wouldn't have taken my bike otherwise. Too much of a hassle."

"Do you have a chain?"

"No, that's my issue. I don't trust people not to steal it, and I would struggle getting to work without it, so I can't have it stolen."

Mary laughed lightly, "I think it's rather sweet how much you ride that bicycle. You look ridiculous but it's not a bad kind of ridiculous."

"Just the kind of ridiculous that makes everyone avoid being a country solicitor?" he questioned.

"Sure, if that's what you would like to think. I think the reason nobody wants to be a country solicitor is because it's incredibly boring, but I'm sure the bike helps."

Matthew glanced around the fair. "There's a game over there, knocking over the milk bottles. Would you like to try it?"

"I'm certain I can beat you,'" Mary said, smirking. "So of course I'll take you up on that. I'm assuming you're no sportsman?"

"You were the one who taught me how to ride a horse, I'm sure you can see for yourself. But to reassure you; I am certainly no sportsman. Happy now?"

Mary smirked and quickened her steps. "We have a game. I'm looking forward to beating you."

They arrived at the booth, the Coconut Shack, and Matthew pulled a couple of shillings out of his pocket and handed them to the person at the booth. They each received three balls to throw.

Mary was much more focused than Matthew was, and he found himself mesmerized by her concentration and skill. She could knock over most of the bottles; he only got one. "You're far better than I am," he said sheepishly.

"Most men would never admit that they were beat by a woman. I told you I would beat you, anyway," Mary commented. "Sybil will be so proud of me. She's a big believer in women being equal to men."

Matthew smiled. "I've noticed. But I don't disagree with her."

"That's good. That lowers your chances of being murdered by her in the middle of the night."

"Sybil is far too nice to do that. She is not capable of murder."

Mary raised a dark eyebrow. "Sybil Crawley appears adorable and sweet on the outside, but if you mess with her, you'll regret it. Believe me, as her sister, I know it very well."

"And you?"

"I look capable of murder, don't I?"

Matthew nodded carefully. "I certainly wouldn't put it past you."

A light laugh escaped from Mary's lips. Her face sobered though. "I'm glad for Sybil. I'm glad she has you to watch out for her, and not just another Patrick."

"Was Patrick really that bad?"

Mary sighed heavily. "He didn't abuse me, so I guess I can be thankful for that. But he wouldn't have lifted a finger for me either. He was completely and utterly selfish, and I don't think he loved anyone but himself. And I grew up expecting that in marriage, but Sybil is so sweet and naive that a man like that would crush her completely. And you're not selfish."

"You thought I was."

"I...I was wrong. You saved me. And since you helped me when I had been nothing but cruel to you, I know you'll protect Sybil. And while I do wish she could choose her own husband, nothing against you, of course, I don't trust her judgment of men. There was a time she had a crush on Larry Grey."

Matthew gave her his confused look. "Larry Grey?"

"He's awful. Just terrible. Don't worry, Sybil's long over it now." Mary watched as he took his bike from the side of the booth. "Are you alright? With being engaged to Sybil? I mean, I know it's not what you want either but..."

"It may not be what I had planned, but Sybil made it hard to complain. I really was expecting some sort of snob..."

Mary snorted in a rather unladylike fashion. "Like me?"

"If it makes you feel better," Matthew replied. "But Sybil's so genuine, and so open, that I can't find an excuse to hate her. So if you want to tell your sister to become terrible and stuck up, I'll definitely be against the marriage."

"I'm glad you're not, actually. Because I worry about Sybil, but I don't have to worry about you hurting her."

* * *

Sybil put down the letter, glanced at herself in the mirror, and sighed.

"Is there anything wrong, milady?" Gwen asked, pulling Sybil's hair back.

"My friend, Amelia. She came out last year, and she's written to me about how utterly miserable she is with her husband. Her parents forced her into the marriage..."

Gwen pressed her lips together tightly. "And you're afraid that is going to happen with you and Mr. Crawley?"

"No, actually. I'm glad it isn't much worse. A part of me still wants to protest since this takes away my choices, but I'm grateful that I won't be completely miserable like Amelia. It kind of puts things into perspective." Sybil forced a bright smile as Gwen finished her hair. "I'm going into Ripon to get a new dress made today, but I'll definitely keep an eye out for any advertisements. You're going to become a secretary, I'll make sure of it."

"Thank you, milady," Gwen replied, unsure what to make of Sybil's generosity. "I've been told to inform you that your mother is waiting for you to join her downstairs to go to Ripon."

Sybil nodded and left the room, heading down the stairs.

* * *

Matthew kneeled next to his bicycle, groaning. The tire was definitely flat. There was no way he was riding home on it. And even once he got home, he wasn't sure how to fix it. He ran his hand over the tire again and sighed.

"Having some trouble?" asked someone from behind him. An Irish accent.

Matthew looked up and saw a young man who he vaguely recognized as the new chauffeur at Downton. He stood and dusted off his pants. "Actually, yes. My bicycle has a flat and I don't really know how to repair it."

"You're Mr. Crawley, right?" he asked. "The heir to the family?"

"Yes..." Matthew said. "And you're the... chauffeur, correct? I'm afraid I don't know most of the servants yet."

"Tom Branson," he replied. "Yes, I am the chauffeur. But I suppose even the family doesn't know most of the servants, so you're in good company."

Matthew shook his head. "But you're people, first and foremost."

Tom smiled. "You're different. That's good, stay that way. Now, about this bicycle. I could repair it for you, but I could also teach you how to do it yourself so that you're not stranded next time this happens."

"I suppose that's a better way of doing things," Matthew said.

"I have the things back at the garage if you don't mind the walk back to the house," Tom said.

Matthew picked up his bicycle. "I don't mind at all. Lead the way."

* * *

Sybil picked up the garment from its box and grinned widely. "This color is beautiful," she said, as Mama examined it."

"Yes, and I do love the fabric of the skirt. It's a little bit unconventional, but it's rather beautiful," Cora said, smoothing her hand over it.

Sybil had to work hard to keep from sniggering. "I'm thinking I might wear it for dinner tonight. I know it's just Edith and Anthony coming over, but I really would like to wear it."

Cora smiled. "Of course. You'd better start dressing, dinner will be soon. Ring for Anna, and I'm off to dress."

As soon as her mother left the room, Sybil grinned and took the frock completely out of the box. She began to get out of her dress and burst out with giggles when Anna came upstairs.

Anna gave her a puzzled look. "Milady? Is there something the matter?"

"No, not at all. In fact, I'm rather excited. But Mama and Papa are in for a shock. And Granny, especially!"

"Because..."

Sybil held up the dress, and pulled apart the skirt.

"Pants?"

"Yes," Sybil said, giggling. "Aren't they beautiful?"

Anna pulled off Sybil's dress. "They are, but they might also give Lord Grantham a heart attack..."

"I think it's worth it for Granny's face," Sybil replied, as she stepped into the culottes and grinned. "Besides, who's to say men can wear pants and women can't?"

"You're brave, Lady Sybil," Anna said, smiling. "But should I have someone ready to go for Clarkson just in case?"

Sybil laughed and finished dressing.

She descended the stairs slowly, keeping a lookout for any servants, especially Carson, who would be so shocked that he would probably faint. The drawing room was right in front of her. Sybil took a deep breath and opened the door, striding in with a confident, "Hello, everyone," and a big grin on her face.

The reactions were mixed, to say the least. Her eyes immediately went to her grandmother, who looked like she was about to collapse. Her father's eyes were flaring, her mother's confused. Edith looked a little bit disgusted but also a little bit proud, and Anthony simply had a confused air. Mary's face was scornful, but Sybil could detect a little bit of jealously in her eyes. Isobel was surprised, but approving. She finally locked eyes with Matthew, who was grinning supportively.

She went to take her seat when a familiar face in the window caught her eye. It was Branson, the chauffeur, looking in the window and gaping, but not without a smile. She was unwilling to give him away, but she did not know what to make of it.

* * *

She had only been in the garage a few times, but she liked the atmosphere. She always envied those who could work in something that they liked. And the garage that Tom Branson worked in was not just about cars. There were books everywhere, and papers with scribbled writings on them that had nothing to do with mechanics. And she found that endearing. His life was not all about driving other people around.

"Hello..." she said hesitantly.

Tom turned around and stared at her, wide eyed. "Lady Sybil! You really should have just called for me if you wanted to go somewhere."

"No, I didn't. I wanted to talk to you, actually."

"Somehow I don't think this conversation is going to end well..."

Sybil put a hand on her hip. "Look, I'm just a little bit concerned about why you were looking in at me in the window..."

His eyes widened even more. "I heard you talking about your frock... I couldn't resist seeing your family's reaction."

"But you find it appropriate to spy on me?"

"No, of course not. But I am interested in you, if that's not so wrong to say..."

Sybil shook her head. "It would be very wrong if you said it to my parents. Luckily, I'm a bit more understanding."

"You're beautiful, did you know that?"

"Plenty of suitors have told me so, but they want something out of it," Sybil replied cooly. She knew how to play this game.

Tom, however, did not. "Well I've nothing to gain by telling you that, except that I find myself wanting to get to know you better."

"My family certainly wouldn't approve..."

"Do you like me?"

"From what I know of you, yes. But I hardly know you."

Tom sighed. "And you hardly will be able to because of class separation."

"I'm sorry, I like you, and I think we could become good friends, especially is it wasn't for society, but Tom, I'm engaged."

He stepped back. "You called me Tom."

"That wasn't even the point of that sentence."

"Alright, so you're engaged. But is it so permanent as all that?"

Sybil nodded. "I'm actually engaged to Mr. Crawley... Breaking that off because the chauffeur called me pretty would set me against my family entirely."

"But you don't want to marry him?"

"No, it's not that. I like him very much, he's very kind. We're just not... we're not in love, not like I wanted to be with my husband."

Tom sighed. "But you're resigned to it?"

"Unless you have an offer that makes being turned against my family worth it," Sybil replied. "Please, I know you were hoping for something. And I wish, so much, that things were different. But I'm sorry to say this, but I'm not in love with you either. At least, not now. We hardly know each other."

"And I'm not rich and titled."

Sybil shook her head. "That's not what matters to me."

"Would you ever fall in love with me?"

"It depends. Make yourself worth turning against my family, and we'll see." She turned on her heel and began to leave, but stopped. "This doesn't mean we can't be friends. You and Mr. Crawley are the only sensible people to discuss politics with around here."

Tom sadly watched her leave the garage.

* * *

 _Thank you all for the support! I hope you enjoyed and please review! :D_


	5. Chapter 5

The streets of Ripon were fairly quiet, and Sybil made sure to glance at the businesses as she walked down the main road, making note of any signs asking for help. Gwen still couldn't find anything, and Sybil was becoming impatient.

She glanced around quickly as she reached the town square. An earl's daughter going to a by-election would likely raise a few eyebrows, and she didn't want that. She simply wanted to see it, to bask in history being made.

Her interest in politics was fairly newfound. She had always wondered, even from a young age, why women were not treated equally to men, but she had never listened in on discussions of politics, much preferring fiction. But recently, she had found that if she was to understand anything that Matthew talked about, she was at least going to have to know a little bit about law. As she researched law, she discovered the interconnection between law and politics, and within a week, she was completely fascinated by politics.

Branson took her, although he didn't know why she wanted to go to Ripon. She had told him that she wanted to go to the bookstore, which was partially true. She didn't want to keep stealing all of Matthew's books, and philosophy of politics intrigued her enough that she wanted to buy her own books on the subject.

But of course, that wasn't why she actually came.

The crowd was rowdy, but Sybil slipped in and felt protected, being next to a group of women that seemed much calmer than the drunk men in the corner. There were two men up front, passionately debating. Sybil couldn't hear much of what they were saying, but she admired the intensity in their faces. If only she was allowed to publicly be that passionate about something. It would be nice not to have her beliefs restricted by an extremely conservative family.

Something one of the men said stirred the crowd up even more, and Sybil was pushed around a little bit, but she didn't mind. It was all part of the experience. And the experience was incredible.

She was so entranced by the speakers that she didn't notice Isobel edging toward her in the crowd.

"Sybil," Isobel hissed. Her voice grew louder as she drew up to Sybil. "Sybil, should you really be here?"

Sybil turned her head, surprised to see Isobel next to her, but unconcerned. "This is history in the making, Cousin Isobel. I have to be here, I can't leave now."

"Your parents are going to be very upset with you when they find out you were here," Isobel pointed out.

"You won't tell them, will you?"

"It depends. If you come with me now, I might keep it to myself. Although it might be best if your parents knew anyway."

Sybil pouted. "Please don't tell them! They'll never let me go out alone again!"

"And that may be the price you have to pay for disobeying their rules."

"They never said I couldn't come..."

Isobel put a hand on Sybil's wrist and began to lead her away from the crowd. "You can't possibly imagine they would be happy that you came here though. And I'd agree with them. I was rather interested in the speakers, but after seeing the crowds... Let's just say, if I didn't see you, I would not have gone in there in the first place."

"I can hold my own, Cousin Isobel."

"I have no doubt that you can," Isobel consoled, as they exited the square. "However, you are an innocent young lady and many men would not have a problem with hurting you, and you're much smaller than them. And I worry for you."

Sybil sighed. "Why are you so worried for me?"

"As your future mother in law, I'm entitled to be concerned for you," Isobel replied.

* * *

"What were you thinking?" Robert bellowed, as he entered Sybil's room.

Sybil stood up from her vanity, her face puzzled. "What do you mean? I've thought a lot of things recently."

Robert shook his head. "You went to the debate for the by-election? Half of those things become full blown riots! I do not want my daughter there!"

"How did you find out?"

"Bates told me. Apparently he heard it from Molesely."

Sybil ducked her head. "So Isobel couldn't keep it in," she muttered under her breath.

"Isobel? What did she have to do with this?"

"She was there," Sybil replied cooly. "She came in and made me leave. I was going to go to the bookstore, I promise, but I just was so fascinated..."

Robert's face was growing rather red. "That's the last time you're going into Ripon without your mother or sisters. It seems we can't trust you to make the right judgments for yourself."

"Papa, that isn't fair..."

"Isn't it? If we can't trust you, we can't give you freedom."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "It was just a political debate. People go to them. Papa, I'm interested in that. Surely you can't think that my interest will be fueled by old books that tell me nothing about today. I want to see it! I want to see politics in action, and see history being made! And I can't do that within these walls."

"You could have at least been clear about your motives."

"You would have said no."

Robert shook his head. "Perhaps, we might have. But we also would have been more understanding of your interests, and found other, safer ways for you to indulge it."

"I'm not interested in safe. I'm interested in real."

"And therein lies your problem; you're not ready for what real truly is."

* * *

Matthew's strides were quick as he headed up the pathway to the house. Upon his way, he noticed a figure sitting on the bench. He approached, and within a few steps, recognized that the figure was Mary.

"What are you doing?" she asked, as he came closer.

"Can't I come up here?" he replied.

Mary put her book on her lap. "Are you looking for Papa? Or Sybil? Because Papa's visiting one of the tenants and Sybil is in her room, sulking because Papa doesn't like her obsession with politics."

"I was looking for your father, but I suppose it's futile now."

"He'll be back eventually," Mary said.

Matthew sat down on the bench and smiled. "So what is the problem with Sybil and politics? I'm afraid I'm not quite clear on the situation."

"It's just a childish obsession."

"It seems a rather deep one for a girl of seventeen. She came over and asked to borrow my law books. I don't even read those if I can avoid it."

Mary laughed lightly. "When Sybil falls in love with something, it's quick, but intense. You should have seen her after reading Pride and Prejudice. I never laughed as much as when she made me pretend to be Mr. Darcy."

"You fit it well," Matthew replied. "Cool and collected and probably snobbish on the outside, but a warm heart."

"Yes, but it was strange because Sybil cast herself as Lizzie."

Matthew nodded. "Ah. So when we marry, will it be quick, but intense?"

"I certainly hope not. I think she has a very high view of love, and she's trying to achieve that. But I think she doesn't quite understand how complex love is. It's not as easy as she seems to think."

"I honestly don't think Sybil and I will ever be in love..." Matthew admitted. "I mean, of course we'll love each other, but there's no real passion. And I think that bothers her. And I suppose it bothers me, too. I mean, it's been smacked in our faces with literature that a perfect match is two people equal in strength but also with strong passion for each other. And that's not who Sybil and I are."

Mary shrugged. "I suppose books aren't everything. I personally envy Sybil."

"Why?"

"She gets to marry you. I mean, as far as forced marriages go, you and Sybil have it pretty good. Patrick and I...there was nothing good in that marriage. And I can't say I miss him very much, even if that sounds absolutely horrible."

"It was that bad..." he echoed. "Well, I'll certainly try not to do that to Sybil."

* * *

"Papa, might I have the car tomorrow?" Sybil asked, trying to sound relaxed and casual. "I've a charity meeting in Ripon at 5, and I absolutely must be there."

Robert glanced up from his desk and narrowed his eyes. "You heard what I told you, didn't you?"

"Yes... But I have to be there! I've already missed two and this project will nearly be over by the time I make it again."

"Take Mary or Edith with you then," Robert replied sternly.

"Oh, do I have to? They'll be so frightfully bored, and you know what Mary and Edith are like when they're bored. We won't get anything done if either of them come."

Robert put his head in his hands. "Alright. I'll strictly inform Mr. Branson to keep an eye on you. And if I hear of any nonsense..."

"Oh, you won't. Thank you, Papa, the other girls will be so grateful. I've already gotten an angry letter from Alice asking where I've been," Sybil said. She ran out into the great hall with relief and glee.

She ascended the stairs, and at the top, she saw Gwen, who looked very distraught.

"Gwen, what's the matter?"

Gwen shook her head. "It's nothing to worry you about, milady."

"Of course it is," Sybil insisted. "Come on, let's go into my room and tell me everything."

When they entered into the room, Gwen sat down on the bed. Sybil knew that Carson would not be happy with this breach of protocol, but Sybil didn't care.

"I'm never going to be able to do it," Gwen whimpered.

Sybil shook her head and clasped Gwen's callused hand. "Of course you are. You will find a job, and I'm going to help you, and Mr. Crawley has promised to help in any way that he can."

"You're brought up to believe that anything is possible," Gwen sniffed, "because it usually is for you. But that's not how it works for people like me."

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that you're going to get this job and then you're going to be the best secretary in all of England."

Gwen smiled through her tears. "Lady Sybil, you are the kindest woman I've met."

* * *

Matthew's eyes drifted from his legal contract to the window. It was Friday afternoon, he was absolutely exhausted, and he wanted nothing more than to go home. And he was almost done with this contract.

He began to scribble furiously again, wishing to get the contract done with. But he kept looking out the window.

On his third or fourth look outside, he saw a car driving on the street. That wasn't extremely odd; cars weren't common, but they weren't oddities either. However, Matthew had a distinct feeling he recognized the car. Then he realized. It was the car of the family.

Shaking his head, he scribbled a few more words, put down the contract, and walked toward the window. Sure enough, he could see Sybil getting out of the car in front of the town square and...running straight into the crowd.

He panicked. Maybe the count wasn't that dangerous, but he knew Sybil wasn't supposed to be there. And he didn't want there to be trouble for her.

The contract was put away, his suit jacket back on his shoulders, and his briefcase was in his hand. He hurried down the stairs, barely even saying goodbye to the secretary at the front desk.

The excitement that filled Sybil might have partially been rebellious glee. After all, there was rather an exhilaration in disobeying the orders of her parents to do something that she truly wanted to do. The count itself, as well, was extremely exciting. Could she be witnessing history in the making?

A burly man nearly knocked her hat off, but she grabbed it and pushed away from him. To her surprise, Tom Branson was right next to her.

"Lady Sybil, we really ought to leave," he said, looking back toward the street. I don't think it's safe here."

"Nonsense," Sybil said, "Look at this, we're watching history. Years from now, this could be taught in schools. And we can tell our children that we were here."

"Our children?"

Sybil grinned, oblivious to her slip of tongue. "Of course. The children that you have and the children that I have. Surely they'll be fascinated to hear the story of how we witnessed this."

"It's not safe here, and your parents will never forgive you if you're hurt here. More likely, they'll never forgive me," Tom said.

"If anything happens, it's completely my fault. Is that enough for you?"

Tom shook his head. "It depends on how your parents take your word for it."

"Well, if they don't, I'll make sure you still have a job. But nothing is going to happen, so there's no need to worry."

The announcement began.

Suddenly, there was a stir in the crowd. Sybil gazed around, trying to locate the source of the disturbance. It seemed to be coming from a group of rather drunk looking men. They were running around, smashing beer bottles and coming up to women. One grabbed Sybil by her shirt and gave her a filthy grin.

Time seemed to slow.

She screamed, and suddenly, the man was pulled off her. But the momentum made her lose her balance.

Sybil saw a pair of bright blue eyes before everything went black.

* * *

Matthew rubbed his sore fist. He had never been much of a fighter, but the man had deserved if for trying to grope Sybil.

"Mr. Crawley..." he heard. Tom was kneeling beside a body.

It was Sybil.

His heart began to beat harder than ever, as he put a hand on her forehead. When he lifted it, his hand was bloody. "What happened?"

"She got pushed, I think, and hit her head on something," Tom whispered.

Matthew nodded dumbly. "We have to get her out of here. Is the car nearby?"

"Yes."

Both men gently picked up Sybil, and Tom gathered her into his arms. Matthew tried to part the crowds as they brought her through. He tried not to show that he was scared for Sybil. The fact that she was unconscious couldn't be good. And the family would kill him... Or more likely, the family would kill Tom.

"Put her back here," Matthew said. "I'll stay back here with her and make sure she doesn't fall off of the seat."

Tom nodded. "What about your bicycle, sir?"

"It doesn't matter, we need to get her home. Now. Scratch that, we need to bring her to my mother's house. She won't fly off the handle as I'm guessing Lord Grantham will."

"I'm going to lose my job, aren't I?"

Matthew spread Sybil out across the back seat, and allowed her head to rest in his lap. "Did you know that she was planning to come?"

"No, she told me that she was going to a charity meeting here. I didn't know until we pulled up in front of the square and by then there was no way to stop her," Tom insisted fervently.

"In that case, I don't think it would be fair to lose your job, but I'm not sure Lord Grantham will be able to see that."

Tom sighed as he started the car. "She said she'd take the blame if anything happened, because she was so convinced of her safety. Now I wish she wasn't."

"If Sybil said she would take the blame, I have no doubt that she will. Your issue will lie with Lord Grantham's anger."

"I don't know what she was thinking!"

Matthew sighed and wiped some of the blood off of Sybil's forehead with the edge of his jacket. It could be washed. "I do. She wanted to do something .She kept taking about being present for history and how she shouldn't stand idly by when the world is changing so quickly. She's quite passionate about it all."

"But that passion gets her in trouble."

"I'm afraid so."

* * *

Sybil felt slightly woozy as she opened her eyes. She was on a couch, in a room that was definitely not at Downton. It took her a few seconds to realize that she was in the sitting room of Crawley House. But why? Hadn't she been at the count a few minutes ago?

The count...

There had been people there, angry people, punching through the crowd. And she had gotten hit.

And Matthew had been there, and Tom.

Tom! Would he lose his job over this?

Sybil nearly sat up, and would have if the simple act of trying to move didn't make her dizzy. She glanced around, to see Matthew and Isobel staring down at her.

"I'm so glad you're awake," Matthew said.

"What happened?" she slurred. "The count and everything..."

Isobel dabbed at her forehead with a wet cloth. "You went to the count, and things didn't turn out so well. Men began fights, and you were caught in the middle of it. Matthew and Branson brought you back here."

"Branson? Is he alright? Will he lose his job?"

Matthew sighed, taking her hand in his. "When I talked to him, it didn't sound like it was his fault in any way."

"No, it wasn't!"

"But I'm not sure your father will see it that way."

Sybil's face fell. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think..."

"No, you didn't think. and that's what gets you into trouble." The voice came from behind Matthew and Isobel, and Sybil lifted her eyes to see Mary there.

"Mary, I'm sorry... I know it looks bad but it really wasn't that bad. Right, Matthew?"

Matthew had a rather haunted look in his eyes. "For a moment there, I was afraid that you had died."

"I'm not nearly that bad," Sybil protested.

Mary sighed. "It doesn't matter, Sybil. Papa will kill you for this. And it was pretty stupid of you to go. Even if Papa didn't explicitly forbid you from going into Ripon alone."

"He gave me permission..."

"He gave you permission to go to a charity meeting, which is very different from a count where you nearly get yourself killed," Mary hissed.

Sybil groaned. "Look, I take full responsibility for my actions. In my defense, the last political event I went to wasn't even mildly eventful, I thought this would be much the same. Yes, I was wrong. But I'm alright."

"Thanks to Matthew and Branson," Mary replied. She turned her attention to Matthew. "Why were you there anyway?"

Matthew shrugged. "I saw the car pull upon the street, and I saw Sybil get out and go in. I figured I should probably see what she was doing, since I had heard about what happened the last time she went to Ripon alone. When I saw how rowdy the crowd was, I went in and I saw someone trying to grope her. So I tried to pull him off of her but she fell. The man who tried to grope her might have a black eye tomorrow though."

"Matthew, you didn't!" Sybil exclaimed.

Mary rolled her eyes. "I'm surprised you know how to punch another man."

"I'm more than I appear."

Isobel shook her head. "This is all very well and good, but that doesn't change the fact that Sybil, you still must face your parents, and I'd advise you to defend Branson because otherwise the man may be out of a job and you don't want that on your conscience."

"How dead do you think I am?" Sybil asked.

Mary gave her sister a half smile. "On a scale of no dessert to death? I'd say you're at about no leaving the house. I don't think you'll be disinherited. Not yet at least."

"You're joking, right?" Matthew asked.

"A Crawley never jokes," Mary replied. "Are you sure you're alright to get up, Sybil? And don't say no just because you want to avoid facing Mama and Papa."

Sybil groaned. "I think I'm alright."

Matthew put his hand behind her back and helped her sit up. "Here, lean on me. You got a pretty nasty cut up there."

"My first battle scar," Sybil replied cheekily.

"Papa is never going to let you get any more," Mary replied.

Sybil was slightly unsteady on her feet, but as she stood up, she replied, "Perhaps my next one will be in battle with him?"

"Should he be afraid?" Matthew asked.

"If Sybil is determined, then yes."

* * *

Robert was red in the face with anger, Cora flush with worry. Sybil sat on the bed, her hair a mess, blood on one of her favorite blouses, and unable to coherently argue. Mary sighed heavily. It was up to her to defend her little sister.

"What on earth were you thinking? I tell you to avoid these political events, you ignore me and go anyway, I forbid you to go into Ripon alone, and you use charity of all things in order to get around that? I thought we raised you better than this!"

Mary wanted to make a comment about the fact that Sybil really had been raised by a nanny, rather than her parents, but the moment was not right.

"Remember when all I wanted to do was run around the estate and play cricket instead of focusing on my studies? You told me to find something intellectual to do. I found something intellectual, and now you chide me for being involved. I'm interested! I'm political! I don't think that's wrong."

Robert grasped onto the mantle of the fireplace. "I wasn't expecting you to get knocked unconscious in a riot in God knows where."

"It was just in Ripon!"

"It's a shame then, that we have such people living among us."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Look, Papa. Sybil's sorry that she disobeyed you, but she also believes your rules are unfair."

"I am her father, I have the right to instruct her!"

Sybil stood up from the bed. "But you don't always know what's right for me! Yes, I lied to you! Yes, I lied to Branson! But it was because you were being unfair!"

"That's another thing," Robert muttered angrily. "Branson. What on earth was he thinking in bringing you there?"

"Like I said, I lied to him," Sybil replied, at least having the good grace to look ashamed. "Please don't sack him, Papa. It isn't his fault."

Robert shook his head. "He got you interested in all this nonsense."

"I might have discovered it through him but his own interests have no bearing on my actions. It's not fair to sack him because we have a common interest."

Mary pulled on Sybil's hand to compel her to sit back down on the bed. "Papa, I really don't think this is Branson's fault."

"Then why on earth did he let her even leave the car?"

Sybil dropped her head and glanced at her feet. "I pulled rank on him," she said, her cheeks flushing. "I told him that I was the one giving the orders. He followed me in and he begged me to come back. But I wouldn't listen to him. And I told him that if anything happened, I would take the blame, which I'm doing now."

"Still, he can't stay after something like this," Robert resolved.

"No!" Sybil said, jumping to her feet. "If you sack him, I'll...I'll run away! Then you'll be sorry!"

Robert almost let out a laugh. "And where would you go?"

"I...I can't think clearly right now. But I'll do it, and you'll be sorry."

Mary grasped Sybil's hand again. "Papa, please. It's been a long day, and I know you're angry, as you well should be, but please do not take your anger out on Branson."

"Very well," Robert finally said. "Sybil, I think you need to go to bed. We'll discuss this further in the morning."

* * *

Mary looked down the stairs as she left the room of her parents, and was surprised to see a figure still in the hallway. A figure she recognized as Matthew. She began to descend the stairs, giving him a small smile as he looked up.

"I'm surprised you're still here," she said.

He shrugged. "I was just waiting for news of Sybil. Is she alright? Is your father alright? I heard shouting."

"I suppose the whole house could hear that..."

"I don't know about the whole house. To be fair, it is an awfully big house."

Mary laughed, and pulled the bell cord. "Well, Papa's obviously not happy. In fact, he was rather angry, and as we suspected, he wanted to sack Branson."

"Did Sybil stop him?"

"I'd like to say so," Mary began, "but since Sybil's head injury rendered her unable to make a cognizant argument so it seems, it was mostly me who defended his position. And I don't even like the man very much. Sometimes I think I'm too nice to Sybil."

Mrs. Hughes appeared in the hallway. "The sandwiches you requested for Mr. Crawley are in the dining room, milady."

Matthew gave Mary a sideways glance.

"Well, I couldn't let the hero of the night starve, could I?"

"You knew I was going to stay?"

Mary pushed open the door to the dining room. "Well, considering you're engaged to Sybil and actually care about her welfare, I had a strong feeling."

He sat down at the table, to a large tray of sandwiches. "This is quite a feast," he said. He took another look at the sandwiches. "Does your cook really think I eat that much? Is this based off of the one time with the cake?"

"What happened with the cake?"

Matthew blushed. "Um, well, let's just say your cook makes excellent cake, and cake happens to be my favorite food, and I might have gone down to the kitchens in search of more... I think she didn't really know how to respond."

"You're so middle class," Mary responded, picking up a sandwich. "Eat up. If you don't eat her sandwiches, maybe she'll think you don't like her food, and then she'll refuse to make you cake. And that would be a tragedy, wouldn't it?"

"I'm going to regret saying that to you, aren't I?"

Mary smirked. "Well, I know one reason you're agreeing to marry Sybil. And I'd agree with you. Mrs. Patmore's wedding cakes are absolutely incredible. You must have tried some at Edith's wedding."

"I had three pieces," Matthew admitted, wanting to sink into his chair.

"So I've cracked your motives, then?"

Matthew's face sobered, and he rested his sandwich on his plate. "You don't really think that, do you?"

"You don't love Sybil," Mary replied coldly.

"We've been over this!"

"Maybe you don't love Sybil, but you seem to like being around her, don't you?"

Matthew nodded. "Yes, but we're friends. Which is difficult because we do wish we loved each other passionately, I think. But that's not us."

"What about me?"

"What? What is it about you?"

Mary's eyes bore into his. "You seem to spend more time with me than with Sybil. You laugh and joke with me more than you do with her. And I don't know what it is, but I don't think it's right. And if you have a problem with me..."

"I don't understand what you're getting at," Matthew said.

Mary sighed and took another bite of her sandwich. "Never mind. It's just a odd thought I had. And I'm just being protective of Sybil."

"Of course," Matthew said, quickly finishing his own sandwich. "Perhaps I should go."

"Perhaps you should."

* * *

 _Thanks for reading! Just a reminder, this is not canon. Especially from here on out I'm going to change the order of things quite a bit, new events wil occur, and character motivations will be a little bit different. So if things are different than you would except, it's (usually) inentional. I hope you enjoyed it, and please review._


	6. Chapter 6

Sybil twirled around in the dress in her room at Grantham House, giggling as she did so. "It's so perfect!" she gushed, fingering the fabric of the skirt.

"I'm glad," Cora said, from her position on the bed. "We're spending a fortune on this ball and you're already engaged, you might as well enjoy it."

"Mama, really, there's no need for you to spend a fortune. I am engaged, as you said, and I'm perfectly happy to have a simple affair," Sybil protested. "I mean, with a gorgeous dress, a few good friends, a band for dancing, and Mrs. Patmore's h'ordures, it will be completely perfect. I don't need anything else."

Cora shook her head. "No, it's not a bother at all. We must keep up appearances, after all, nobody knows that you're engaged. And you're my last daughter, it's the last debutante ball we'll get to host. I'd like to make the most of it."

"I still think that money could be put to better use..."

"Allow me to spoil you, Sybil. You're only a debutante once. Have you thought about who you would like to add to the guest list?"

Sybil nodded. "Yes, actually. I wondered why you'd forgotten Matthew? Did you simply assume his attendance, or am I missing something?"

"You want him to come?"

"Of course I do! He is my fiancee, after all. Why wouldn't I want him here? Honestly, did you think I wouldn't?"

Cora shook her head. "Of course not, but we aren't ready to announce that you are engaged. Don't you want to have your first season free? Of course you can't commit to anyone, but with that hanging over your head..."

"If the revelation of our engagement bothers you so much, I won't even so much as talk to him at my ball. But he's going to be thrust into society when we marry anyway, you might as well try to acquaint him with it now."

Cora reached for Sybil's hand, "Darling, are you really alright with this?"

"With what?"

"The engagement, the marriage, everything. Becoming a countess? Are you still angry at us for this? We want what's best for you."

Sybil smiled at her mother. "And I love you for that." Her voice was tinged with sarcasm, but for Sybil, sarcasm was a rare commodity. "Even though you've completely stolen my freedom of choice, as well as any chance at true, passionate love, it's not as bad as it could be. I have friends with disasters of forced marriages. At the very least, Matthew and I get along. As a matter of fact, we are friends."

"But you're not in love?"

Sybil sighed. "Mama, I'm not sure you realize how lucky you are to find love in a marriage of convenience. But not everyone is like you. Matthew and I will be happy enough, I think. Enough to live in peace, enough to be friends and run the estate together. Enough to live a life that's close enough."

* * *

Matthew was spread out on the couch in the library at Grantham House, enjoying the late afternoon sunlight while trying to look over a contract. The firm had accepted his requests for a few days off to go to Sybil's ball in London, but he still felt as if he should really get some work done.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was hard to concentrate here; he could hear servants bustling around, trying to prepare the ballroom nearby for the ball the following night. It would be elaborate and expensive and he wasn't a fan of parties so he wouldn't find it especially enjoyable, but Sybil had wanted him there, so he felt obligated to go.

The door opened, and Matthew looked up. It was Sybil.

"Are you really working?"

Matthew shrugged and put the contract on the coffee table in front of him. "They seemed reluctant to give me the time off, I figured I might as well put some work in, anyway. Besides, what is there to do around here?"

"London is fascinating," Sybil said. "If you'd like to walk around with me and see all the sights I'm assuming you probably haven't seen, we could go do that. I know Papa doesn't like how much you work. He doesn't think it's good for a young man to spend all his time reading things and not talk to anyone."

"I talk to people," Matthew groaned. "Considering his work is walking around an estate and talking to his tenants and trying to look good so that all the people below him don't revolt and overthrow the aristocracy, I don't expect him to understand."

Sybil sighed. "You do realize being an earl is more than that, right?"

"Of course." Matthew had the grace to look somewhat chastened. "But there's something about all the wealth around here... If lower classes truly understood how unfair the gap was, I don't think the aristocracy would survive."

"Maybe it won't," Sybil said. "I don't think it will, actually. At least not through our lives. It's funny, how much the world is changing. And others would know even better than I do... This won't be a rich family's world forever."

Matthew smiled. "Maybe it's good that I'm not an aristocrat then, and I don't think I'll ever be one. At least, in my heart, I'll always be a middle class lawyer."

"Good. Then I guess we'll survive the coming storm."

"That does sound serious," Matthew replied. "But I suppose you're right. Anyway, I forgot to tell you, I might have found something for Gwen..."

* * *

The ball was full of girls in expensive dresses and young men in white tie. Mary's own debutante ball had been fairly subdued, and she was engaged to Patrick. She couldn't help but feel twinges of envy toward Sybil; she was engaged, and yet she still got the huge debutante ball that Mary had always dreamed of.

Sometimes, Mary couldn't help but wonder how much she missed out on because of Patrick.

A hired footman passed by her with h'ordures, a sort of delicious soft cheese on crackers. She took one, and saw another hand reaching for it. Her dark eyes met Matthew's blue ones. "Aren't you supposed to be dancing?" she asked, taking a bite of cracker.

"They made me open the ball with Sybil, so I did dance. Didn't you see?"

Mary shook her head. "I was still getting ready. Unfortunately, we forgot to pack the dress I was planning to wear so Anna and I had to scramble frantically to find something suitable."

He surveyed her outfit. "Well, you look beautiful anyway."

"Do you want to dance?"

"You're basically asking me if I want to step on your toes," Matthew replied dryly. "Which I suppose I'd be willing to do, if you're up for it."

Mary popped the rest of her cracker in her mouth and grinned. "I swear, if you ruin my shoes..."

"No promises."

She grabbed his hand and they went out onto the dance floor. "I haven't danced yet tonight, so I needed to at least show my face."

"So your future brother in law is the best way to do that?" Matthew asked, as the music began.

"I don't want to start up conversations with new people who think I might be eligible for marriage."

Matthew gave her a sympathetic smile. "Do you ever want to marry again?"

"That's a loaded question for a dance floor."

"I'm serious though."

"You want me out of Downton for when you and Sybil get married, don't you."

Matthew stepped back from her, stunned. "Why would you think that? We're not going to kick you out. In fact, I'm pretty sure Downton is worth more to you than it is to Sybil and I, and if you wanted to help run it, Sybil and I would be happy for your help."

"This really isn't a dance floor conversation."

"Then let's go somewhere else."

The music ended and Mary grabbed Matthew's wrist. They walked though a few hallways until they reached a door at the end of one. She pushed it open and led them out to a terrace. The summer evening was cool, but not unpleasant.

Mary leaned against the railing. "Look, Matthew. I've tried to get past the fact that you're taking what should be mine, were it not for my gender. And I'm pretty sure I'm past that now. But I don't know why you're being so nice to me. I was terrible to you."

"Mary, I can't just kick you out of your home, if that's what this is about."

"Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't."

Matthew put her hand over hers. "So you want to stay at Downton? You don't want to look for a husband?"

"I can't go through the pain."

"The pain?"

Mary's hands went to her stomach. "I can't fall in love with someone and then tell them about how I'm...not a real wife, and then watch them leave. I don't know if I'm even capable of falling in love. I didn't love Patrick, but..."

"But?"

"What would you say if I told you I loved you?

* * *

He hadn't seen her since. He ran off, or maybe she did, and whichever way it happened he was in the library with a tumbler of whiskey in front of him, trying to process what happened.

Mary was in love with him?

It was strange and it didn't make sense and yet it made his heart beat wildly and his face flush bright.

And it was so wrong.

He had to push any feelings back inside.

Sybil once told him that Mary tried not to feel. Or to keep everything inside. And now Matthew could see why.

Mary had the potential to ruin things.

She wouldn't, or at least she wouldn't try to.

If anyone would ruin things, it would be Matthew.

He wished he didn't know.

But here he was. He couldn't face her again. Not with this knowledge. Maybe he could shut down his feelings, just like she usually did.

He knocked back the whiskey.

He couldn't face her.

* * *

Sybil fell back onto her bed as she entered her room. She was happy, but exhausted. The ball had been long and the clock was striking two. As she began to take her dress off, there was a knock at her door. A second later, it opened, and Mary came in.

"So how was your ball?" Mary asked. "Everything you ever dreamed of?"

"I certainly can't find any fault," Sybil replied. "And did you enjoy yourself?"

Mary shrugged. "I'm happy to see my little sister now a woman in the eyes of society, and the food was delicious. And of course, I was glad to see you absolutely glowing."

"But...there's something else, isn't there."

"Society doesn't really hold its luster anymore. Not after Patrick and..."

Sybil reached for her sister's hand. "You would have been an amazing mother."

"Did I ever tell you what I was going to name him?"

"No. You refused to talk about him."

Mary sighed, trying to blink back tears. "Patrick wanted me to name him after himself, or his father, but one Patrick and one James was certainly enough. I wanted to name him George. After Papa's grandfather. Because I wanted him to have a family name, but not like the men in our family."

"Did Patrick know this?"

"I figured that it would be best to argue with him after the birth. After all, I didn't even know if I was going to have a boy. But then..."

Sybil pulled her sister into a tight hug. "George is in heaven now, and I'm sure he's happy. You'll see him someday."

"How can a little boy who lived for two minutes be in heaven?"

She didn't know how to answer. Instead, she let the silence sit for a minute, only broken by Mary's sniffles, until asking, "Why did you want to tell me about this?"

"I don't think I'll ever find love," Mary said, trying to wipe away her tears. "I don't think I'll even ever get married, because no one wants a barren woman; certainly not anyone who needs an heir. And I know it sounds selfish and stupid of me especially because I never even tried to love Patrick, but tonight I realized that I don't really have a direction, and I'm going to live off the charity of you and Matthew forever."

Sybil stepped back. "Mary, it's not charity. Downton is your home too."

"But I'll forever be seen as the widowed cousin with nothing to offer. I'll be a burden, and I want to be able to do something for myself. Being unmarried is like being in a waiting room, but being widowed and unable to remarry is the equivalent of being in a waiting room with a stack of boring books. You do have options, but they're very few and none of them are very appealing."

Sybil took Mary's hand in hers and led her to sit on the bed. "We're not going to be in London much longer. When we get home, it'll be alright again. Matthew and I will be more than happy to have you stay with us. We both love you."

Mary swallowed. Of course Sybil would say something like that, to bring up the failed declaration she had made earlier. But she could hide everything. "Thank you, Sybil."

* * *

The summer sun glowed even brighter at Downton.

"Are you excited for the garden party?" Sybil asked, nearly skipping alongside Matthew in order to keep up with his long strides.

Matthew smiled gently. "It will be nice. Although to be honest, I'm a little bit nervous about announcing our engagement there."

"Why?"

"It's just been the family knowing all this time, and suddenly we're opening it up to the world. I mean, I have friends who have no idea, they're all going to wonder at it, and I'm just not sure how everyone is going to react."

Sybil shrugged. "I honestly don't care. If they criticize me, I'll tell them it wasn't really my choice, but it wasn't the worst thing that could have happened. A few of them already know, I told them at my ball or sometime around then."

Matthew didn't have anything to respond with.

"Mary says you've been avoiding her since my ball. She wouldn't tell me why. Well, she said she didn't know, but she seems to know. She just doesn't want to tell me. Is there a reason you want to tell me?"

He bit his lip. "I'm not avoiding Mary."

Sybil stopped walking and stepped in front of him. "You're a terrible liar, Matthew."

"I swear, I'm not avoiding Mary. If she thinks I have any obligation to spend time with her, you should remind her that I'm your fiancé, not hers."

"That isn't like you, Matthew."

Matthew shook his head. "I'm not avoiding Mary."

"This is worse than when you hated each other! At least then you weren't in denial."

"I don't know why Mary's insistence makes you so concerned. Why is she so concerned, anyway?"

Sybil sighed. "I haven't seen you talk to her since my ball."

"Mary said some things that confused me, and might have bothered me a little bit, but you aren't the one to burden with that. You can ask her, but I doubt she'll want to tell you either."

"Well now I really must know."

Matthew shook his head. "I'll talk to her about it, then, if that's what you really want. And if we feel comfortable, we'll talk to you about it. But I promise you, there's absolutely nothing wrong."

* * *

Mary sat on the bench at the garden party, observing as people dressed in white milled about, taking sips of drinks and gossiping about the latest from London. She didn't want that. She was tired of listening to all of that. Two months in London had been more than enough. Society really had nothing left to offer her.

Somebody sat down beside her, and Mary glanced to her side. It was Matthew. He was not smiling, but his face was not unkind either.

"What do you want?" she asked. She knew she was being gruff, but he deserved it. Sometimes he could be so frustrating.

He looked at her steadily, and she flinched away from the eye contact. "What was that at Sybil's ball? I've thought about it many times, and I'm still not quite sure what to make of it..."

"Is that why you've been avoiding me?"

"For heaven's sake, I was not avoiding you, and now Sybil's investigating to find out what happened, and I'd really rather she not know."

Mary let out a laugh that contained no humor. "Sybil actually cares. Good for her. But if you're wondering, what happened that night was that I had a little bit too much to drink, and my loneliness was talking."

"You said you were in love with me."

She took a deep breath and steadied herself. "If you'll allow me to be honest, I am."

"What?"

"Not that I'd ever take you from Sybil; I couldn't hurt her like that. But there was something there and I just...my loneliness was speaking for me, Matthew. Don't listen to the things I say!'

Matthew stood up. "Perhaps I should leave, then."

"Are you uncomfortable with this?"

"You're not usually so candid!"

Mary bolted up beside him. "Look, drink made my tongue looser, and I regret it, but I wasn't lying."

"I don't know how..."

"What?"

"Mary, this is difficult to understand. And I don't want to hurt Sybil."

Mary nodded. "Of course, you shouldn't. I don't want to hurt Sybil either. But will you tell me how you feel?"

He looked at her, a hurt expression in his eyes."I don't know, honestly."

"Are you angry at me?"

"If I didn't know you loved Sybil so much, I'd say you were trying to tear our marriage apart, so I am a little bit."

"Forget I ever said anything, then. Good luck, Matthew. Good luck with your marriage. Try and forget."

He looked desperately after her as she stalked off.

* * *

Sybil ran into the staff tent and grabbed Gwen by the hand, pulling her into the shade of a nearby tree. She was giggling with excitement. Tom, curious, followed her there. Gwen had told him about her job search, and he was hoping for good news.

"Gwen, we just got a telephone call from Mr. Crawley's office in Ripon," she squealed. "You got the job! You're a real secretary!"

Gwen jumped up and down in excitement, and Tom was grinning from ear to ear. "I honestly can't believe it," Gwen giggled. "That's incredible."

"Congratulations!" Tom said. "Although I must say, I'll miss you."

Sybil threw her arms around Gwen. "I'll miss you too. But I'm so happy that your dream is coming true!"

In the midst of their celebrating, Robert strode toward them, with purpose. Sybil didn't notice him until he hissed, "Sybil!"

She took her hand out of Tom's-she hadn't noticed it was there previously-and turned to her father. "Yes? Are we making the announcement now?"

"We're not announcing it today," Robert replied sadly.

"What? Why?" she demanded.

"You'll see. I'm very sorry my darling."

Sybil watched in confusion as he strode out on the lawn, a telegram clenched in his hand. Her heart beat quickly in her chest.

"Attention, everybody!" Robert shouted. Silence was cast over the crowd. "I regret to inform you that we are at war with Germany."

* * *

 _Thanks to all of you who have read, and especially those who have reviewed! Your encouragement means more than you can know. From here on, canon is going to be twisted every which way, and there are things you (hopefully) won't expect! So thank you so much for reading, and please review!_


	7. Chapter 7

Isobel entered the drawing room, pulling her shoulders back, ready to face her son who was spread out over the couch and staring out the window. "We knew it was coming," she said, perching on the edge of the seat next to him. She rubbed her hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"I have to go," he said, not blinking for fear of tears escaping.

"No. You don't. Not right away, at least," Isobel replied, her own voice full of fear. Her only son. She could lose him.

Matthew pulled away. "No, you don't understand. I can't sit around here and do nothing while others give themselves up for their country. I can't stay, anyway."

"What about Sybil?"

"Sybil isn't weak. I don't think my leaving will force her into a life of nothing but pining. And if something ever were to happen to me, she could carry on. It isn't as if we're madly in love."

She took his hand in hers. When had it grown so large and strong? Her little baby was no longer a child. He was a grown man, and she was about to lose him. "You can't wait until it's obligatory?"

"That's not right. I can't stand idly by. And honestly, I don't want to stay here. There's something... that could make it awkward."

"What on earth do you mean?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing at all. But can't you see, I'm not going to watch as other men do what I should be doing."

"You are entirely too much like your father," Isobel said, with a heavy sigh.

"But aren't you going to be doing the same?"

He had a valid point. Ever since the announcement, Isobel could think of nothing but her son; however, perhaps it was the time for her to take up nursing again. She certainly was capable of it, and through it she could do her part. But if she wanted to do her part, she had to let her son do his. "Of course I am. I'll take up nursing again. But that's nowhere near as dangerous, darling. And I just plead you to think carefully about this, not just do it on an impulse."

"But I have thought about it," he protested. "Ever since rumors of a pending war came about, I've been thinking about it. What I would do if circumstances came to be as they are. And I thought for a long time, and I decided that the best thing to do would be to fight. Mother, it isn't as if I'll be alone."

"No, of course not. But I'm still going to worry for you."

Matthew smiled as much as he could. "Of course you are. But look, I'm not going to try and be a hero, and do brave deeds to get a medal on my dead body."

"Somehow, I have a hard time believing that, knowing you."

"Well, at least I'm not going to try for that. I'll do what I think is best. And to be honest, I'm a little bit afraid, as well. But I have to go. It's what's right."

Isobel pulled her son into her arms and rested her head against his shoulder. "Sometimes, I regret teaching you to think so rigidly of right and wrong. Because now, you never think of what's best for you."

* * *

Sybil wasn't surprised, but she wasn't happy, either. "I wish you didn't have to go."

"I wish so many things, Sybil..." Matthew said ruefully. "But I have to do this. I'll try and stay safe, I promise."

She nodded sadly. "Will you buy a commission?"

"I would fear the look on your father's face should I decide to enlist instead. Wouldn't it be a disgrace to the family if I wasn't an officer?"

"I suppose Papa would be rather disappointed if you weren't," Sybil replied. "He's locked himself in the library since the garden party, I'm not sure if he's even going to come out for dinner."

"Of course it's very hard for him, too. Honestly, Sybil, I'm very afraid of all this. Our lives are about to change dramatically and I'm not sure I'm quite ready."

Sybil opened the door to the drawing room and led him inside. "The storm has come upon us."

"What do you think about the wedding? I'd rather put it off until after the war; I don't want to leave you as a grieving widow," Matthew said, as they took seats in a secluded corner of the room. "Unless you'd rather have a very quick wedding before I go."

"No, I think you're right. The rushed wedding is something more out of a romance novel rather than an arranged marriage. The war might be long though..."

"I certainly hope not," Matthew said.

Sybil reached for his hand. "But after the war. Who knows how long that will be, but planning isn't very useful right now."

"I'm planning to come back home safe, if that's enough."

"Certainly. That's all I want."

* * *

Mary wandered into the library, to see her father on the couch, a glass of whiskey in his hands. He looked exhausted, his eyes bloodshot. She went over to the drinks cabinet and poured herself a glass; perhaps it was terribly modern of her, but she didn't care. She needed it tonight.

"You didn't come to dinner tonight. Why?"

Robert looked up from his glass. "Why do you think?"

"Papa, you can't let this get you down. It's not going to hurt you as much as the last war did. Are you even eligible to fight now?"

"I don't know," Robert admitted.

"You missed Matthew's announcement while you were in here, moping," Mary commented as she sat across from him.

"What was it?" Robert asked, a terrible sinking feeling in his heart.

Mary glanced over at him and in a second saw that he already knew. "Matthew is signing up to fight. And he and Sybil are postponing the wedding until after the war."

"I figured as much," Robert said sadly. "But the wedding? Are they sure they'd rather wait? There's so much uncertainty, wouldn't it be better for them to be certain of something?"

"Matthew doesn't want to leave Sybil a widow, and after Patrick, I would rather agree with him. They also would rather not do a rushed wedding. And that I can also understand. Honestly, I think they're being very wise."

Robert took a large gulp of his drink. "Maybe. But I'd rather get the inheritance issue nailed down. I hate to be morbid, but if Matthew dies, we still are without an heir, and we'll have to track down another man, one who my daughter won't so easily be convinced to marry."

"It's quite awful how you use Sybil as nothing more than a baby making machine for Downton," Mary said, suddenly candid.

"Mary, I really don't think you should drink that."

"You don't care about her feelings. You don't care about the emotional trauma she could go through if her husband dies in battle. You saw me as a widow, you see now how terrible it is for me, why would you want to do that to her? For the sake of a safe inheritance?"

Robert put down his drink. "Mary, I know you care about Downton as much as I do. Which is why I find your current behavior utterly confounding. Perhaps it is the drink. I know it's been a difficult day, but..."

"No!" Mary shouted. She rarely raised her voice, but she was becoming passionate. "Of course I care about Downton. I daresay I care more about it that you. But most of all, I care about my sister. I don't want her hurt. And I think she's making the right decision in not marrying immediately."

"Mary, of course I care about Sybil. But I don't know if it's right for her to stay unmarried for who knows how longs while she waits for a man that might never come home."

"So you'll marry her off to him so she'll be tied to him even when he doesn't come home?"

Robert stood up. "Mary, I don't think you fully understand the situation here."

"And I don't think you fully understand that Sybil and Matthew are both mature people who are making a logical decision to wait on a marriage that they didn't even choose for themselves. Look, you can criticize them all you want, but you've already forced them into something they didn't want, you can at least give them control of the timing."

"Why do you put so much into their relationship."

Mary took a final swig of her whiskey. "It isn't like I have a relationship of my own to invest in."

"Mary, I know you're bitter about Patrick, but..."

"Patrick left me a barren widow with no prospects. Of course I'm bitter that the only marriage I'll get was to a man I despised."

Robert didn't know how to respond. "It wasn't that bad, was it?"

"Since we were able to mostly ignore each other, it wasn't the worst thing possible. But a part of me is jealous of Edith; although her marriage looks boring, she had a choice."

* * *

Matthew stood on the train platform, the drizzling rain casting a gloomy mood over the area. And he was already feeling sad enough. But more than anything, he was afraid, although he was loath to admit it.

It was just training. He shouldn't be afraid. He wasn't going to be sent to the trenches until he knew at least a little bit of what he was doing.

But he was supposed to lead. And he had no idea how to even start.

That was what training was for, he reasoned, but his heart still pounded in his chest, and every second he dreaded the arrival of the train more.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall of the platform. He could smell heavy cigarette smoke in the air, and he knew that the other men here would be training as well. But he still couldn't shake that nervousness.

As the train pulled into the station, he couldn't help shaking. As it slowed down, silence fell around the station.

Footsteps approached, and he opened his eyes quickly.

It was Sybil.

"It's awfully early. I'm surprised you came, honestly."

Sybil laughed. "So am I, if I'm being truthful. But I couldn't let my fiancé go without saying goodbye properly, could I?"

"It's nice to know you care."

"Of course I care," she said, placing a hand on his wrist. "We may not want this marriage, but I care about you very much. I just want you to stay safe. And write to me. We'll all be angry if you don't write, because we all care very much about our Lieutenant Crawley."

Matthew ducked his head. "I'll write, of course. As long as you write back."

"Very long letters. I'll detail everything that has happened in my probably very boring life."

"And I will relish every word," he replied. "But you needn't have it stay boring. I'm sure there are plenty of things you can do to help with the war effort, as long as you don't think that's also boring."

"Like what?"

"Well, my mother's planning to take up nursing again. I don't know if you'd like that at all, but if you're interested, I'm sure she'd be happy to allow you to help."

Sybil grinned. "Actually, I think I might like that very much. I'll definitely talk to her about it."

"Tell me how it goes, then. And I'll tell you what I can, although apparently confidentiality is a big thing. Which means I basically can't tell you anything about what I'm doing for fear of Germans intercepting an innocent letter and discovering sensitive information."

"That would be no good," Sybil said. The train whistled behind her. "You have to go, don't you?"

"Yes, I probably shouldn't miss my train."

Sybil threw her arms around him in a big hug. "Fight well. Stay safe. I'm not sure if we'll get to see you again before you head off to France or wherever you have to go. But good luck to you."

"Good luck to you, too," Matthew said, stepping back and taking his bags.

"For what?"

Matthew stepped up onto the train. "For dealing with our family. And for finding a purpose, because I know you have one."

She nodded, about to say something, but the train blew its horn again and whatever she wished to say would have been drowned out anyway. She stood forlornly in the mist as the train pulled away.

* * *

"I'm surprised you got up this early," Tom said, from the front of the car, as it rolled along the roads back to the house. "Didn't you say that you didn't love him."

Sybil sighed. "We're not in love. Not deep, passionate love like I want. But I love him; more like a brother than anything else, which is somewhat strange for a fiancé, but it doesn't matter. But of course I still care about him."

"Do you believe in this war?" he asked.

"That's a very direct question."

Tom didn't blink. "But do you believe in it? Maybe I'm forward, but I think it's important for people to have a voice in this kind of thing."

"I... I don't think bloodshed is the way to solve any problem, but unfortunately, history disagrees with me. Everyone simply turns to killing whenever they have a problem. And I hate that, because it demeans life."

"I'm glad you think so, because I'm inclined to agree," Tom commented. "And there are other issues that the government should be focused on, but instead they decide to get caught up in a war."

Sybil pressed the side of her head against the window of the car. "It's nationalistic pride, really. That's what has forced us into this. That, and a complex system of alliances that really shouldn't apply anymore."

"You're very insightful."

"Don't you remember my politics obsession? It was only a few months ago, I've still retained most of the knowledge."

Tom laughed lightly. "How could anyone forget your politics obsession? Especially when it almost made me lose my job."

"I'm sorry about that, you know."

"It doesn't matter anymore. Not when we're at war and everything is so different. I just hope that Ireland doesn't get dragged into this."

Sybil lifted her head up. "Do you love Ireland very much?"

"It's my home, milady. Do you love Downton Abbey very much?"

"Not as much as Mary," Sybil deflected. "But I suppose I bear a certain fondness for it. I see your point, though. There's always an attachment to the place you come from. Like Matthew was commissioned into a regiment in Manchester. I'm not quite sure why, but I think he wanted to do it for his hometown."

Tom pulled the car into the garage. "Just as I wouldn't fight even if I was forced to."

"They'd shoot you for that!"

"If conscription begins, I'll be a conscientious objector. They'll put me in prison, sure, but I won't be getting blown to pieces on a battlefield for something I'm against."

Sybil climbed out of the back. "Then I wish that conscription will not begin, because I don't want to see you in jail. I've already lost one sane person to talk to in Matthew, now I just have you and occasionally Mary, but she's hit and miss in that regard."

"Well, I'll try my best not to get conscripted, then. We don't want Lady Sybil alone in her apparent sanity."

Sybil smiled softly. "You know what I mean."

"And I agree with you most fervently."

* * *

The uniform felt itchy, and slightly big on him, but he didn't mind. He supposed that he had lost weight in the past three months of training. As the train pulled into the station at Downton, Matthew stood up and got out of it. To his surprise, the chauffeur was waiting at the station.

"I only told Lady Sybil I was coming, I'm surprised you're here," Matthew commented as he strode up to Tom.

"It's her fault I'm here. She told me it would be nice if I picked you up, so I did," Tom replied defensively.

Matthew smiled. "It's not a problem at all. That's just like Sybil, to be so thoughtful. I'll have to thank her. I guess it's back to Downton, then?"

"How long will you be staying, sir?"

"Only two days, and then I'm due back, and then it's off to France."

Tom nodded and led Matthew out to the parked car. The drive home was mostly silence, until Matthew commented, "I wish I knew how to drive a car."

"I could teach you, if you'd like," Tom replied.

"We don't really have time, I'm afraid, but if I ever have a chance, I may want to take you up on that offer."

"We'll see if I'll be around here then, though."

Matthew drew his brows down. "Why? What are you planning?"

"Nothing. Or at least nothing right now. But I have ambitions, sir, and I don't think I'm going to stay a chauffeur forever."

"No, I didn't think you would."

Dinner was difficult for Matthew. It took him two years to learn all the dinner manners, only to be forgotten in the span of three short months as he filled his head with more vital things rather than which knife to use when.

Mary noticed this, seated next to him at the table. She leaned over to him and whispered, "Do you need a refresher on table manners?"

He laughed lightly and shook his head. "Actually, I was wishing to talk to you later. In the library, after dinner?"

"Alright. Should I be afraid?"

"Not at all. But there are some things we need to discuss that I fear we'll never get the chance to discuss otherwise."

After the painful ordeal that was a dinner back at the house, Mary and Matthew stood awkwardly in front of the window in the library, both with drinks resting in their hands. Matthew began, "I know I wasn't so nice to you before, but I was just hurt and confused."

"And I was honestly drunk when I began this whole issue."

"I'm not sure how much I believe that, but sure, we can say that. I see that you're in love with me, although I can't fathom why..."

Mary smiled at him. "Well, after Patrick, most engagements look like improvements."

"But the truth is, I've had three months to think about it, and I feel like I was probably leading you on. Because I enjoy your company, and I like you quite a lot and I care for you very much. But I don't want to hurt Sybil." There were other things that were true, but could not be said.

"No, of course not. And we should refrain from anything like this, for Sybil's sake," Mary agreed. "But you're not angry at me."

Matthew shook his head. "No, I'm not angry. And I rather hope we can continue on as friends, if that would be acceptable to you."

"Of course it would be," Mary said. "You know, I will miss you. And I'm terrified for you."

"If I'm honest, I'm terrified too. But that's not much use now. There's no going back, only going forward."

* * *

 _I just want to thank you all again for being so supportive of this story and getting invested. It means so much to me. I may have already done this, but since one cannot do it enough, I'd like to thank my amazing friend Klarinette49, for reading over every one of these chapters for me and telling me what to do better. She's been with me from when I first concieved this story, and I love her a lot. Thank you all for reading, and as always, please review._


	8. Chapter 8

**January 1915**

Sybil shivered as she walked down the road to Isobel's house, wrapping her coat tighter around her. The January wind blew and she wasn't quite prepared for the blasts. But she soldiered on and knocked on Isobel's door.

Molesley answered it, smiling tightly at her and taking her coat as she entered. She breathed a sigh of relief as the warmth inside the house hit her, then instantly felt guilty. This was what the soldiers in France were living in, with no reprieve. No wonder Matthew's letters so often talked about how cold it was.

"Lady Sybil Crawley," Molesley announced, as he opened the door, and Sybil couldn't help but think about how stupid that sounded. Here they were, in the middle of a war, and they were still using titles and drinking tea like nothing was happening around them when in fact that was not true.

"Thank you, Molesley," Isobel said. "Would you please fetch us some tea?" He nodded, and Isobel turned her attention to Sybil, who sat in the corner of a couch. "How are you, my dear? Holding up?"

Sybil nodded. "I think so. Still, I'm getting letters every day where I find out my friends have signed up, and with every single one, there comes this sinking feeling that they might not come out alive... A few of them have already been killed. And they said this war would be over by Christmas. But there's no end in sight."

"No..." Isobel sighed. "I honestly have no idea how things are going, although I read the papers thoroughly every day."

"Because of Matthew."

Isobel cast her eyes downward. "I know every man is a special case to someone, and he felt it was right to go, but still, I wish he hadn't. Every day. Because every time I think about him, I know he's in that awful place, and my mind flickers to the thought that he might not come out alive."

"I can understand why he wanted to go, though. Maybe I'm awful for making this about myself, but I just feel so useless! I want to help, somehow!"

"I think that's a very noble thing," Isobel said.

Sybil met her eyes. "Matthew suggested nursing. And I've thought on it, and thought, and I know my parents wouldn't be happy because according to them I'm still a child, but I'm not! And I'd like to help people. And Matthew said that if I was interested, I could ask you."

"So what finally prompted this?"

"One of my friends, Tom Bellasis, was killed," Sybil whispered, her voice cracking and her eyes cast downward. "I can't go on like this much more while knowing that I'm sitting safely in the lap of luxury and not doing anything remotely helpful."

Isobel moved to the other couch and put her arms around Sybil. "My dear, I understand perfectly. And we will find a way to allow you to help. There is a nursing school in York that is busy training girls to be auxiliary nurses. I could see if we could get you into a spot there, if you'd like that."

"I would. The bigger problem is convincing my parents."

"I'm not sure they can deny you forever. Not when they see how passionate you are about helping others. It's a noble trait, my dear, and one parents are always proud to see in their children."

Sybil shook her head and buried her face in Isobel's shoulder and Isobel help her tighter. "Not necessarily. They'll think I'm trying to be rebellious again."

"They shouldn't care if it's a form of rebelliousness. You want to help people, right?"

"Of course I do!"

Isobel sat up and patted Sybil's shoulder. "I'll talk to them if you can't convince them alone. But I believe that you can. Your parents are not as unreasonable as you might think."

"I hope not. But if you could contact the nursing college, I'd be very grateful. If they won't take me, then I don't know if I even want to broach the subject with my parents for no reason."

"You're a smart girl, Sybil. Was that really what you wanted to see me about today?"

Sybil stood up. "Yes, of course. But one other thing... Do you think Matthew would mind if I borrowed one of his books. I've been dying to read Othello and our library doesn't have it, oddly enough."

"I don't think Matthew would mind at all. And if you return it before his next leave, he might never even know."

"When is his next leave?" Sybil asked.

Isobel shrugged. "I honestly don't know. They don't give junior officers leave for quite a while. But I'm hoping it's soon."

"So am I."

* * *

"You want to be a nurse?" Mary sputtered.

Sybil groaned and fastened an earring. "Don't sound so surprised. And please, take the horror out of your tone. From you, it sounded like I'd said that I want to go fight in the trenches."

"It's the closest thing for a woman," Mary replied, taking a seat on Sybil's bed. "I know you kept saying you wanted to do something, but I'm fairly certain Mama and Papa will not approve of this."

"Look, there are princesses serving as nurses now. I'm not that important, but surely I can do my part."

Mary sighed. "They're still not going to like it. Understand this, Sybil. To them, you're still the childish little girl who rode ponies around and tried to play cricket with the boys and cried when they wouldn't let her. Now I know you're not, and you certainly believe that you're not, but Mama and Papa don't see that. Even your politics didn't show them."

"I'm still the little girl who cried when she couldn't play cricket, but it's perfectly alright for the childish little girl to be forced into marriage?"

"Papa's not happy that you and Matthew put it off."

Sybil whirled around. "I don't care. It isn't his decision. He forced me into the marriage, he can at least let us choose when it takes place."

"I'm inclined to agree with you, darling. But just know, he's already not happy with you for that, and this will upset him more."

"What if I don't care?"

"Unfortunately, he is not going to like that attitude, and it will decrease your chances of him allowing you to become a nurse, which is already a long shot anyway."

Sybil turned back to the mirror. "Maybe I'll do it even if he says no."

"You live under his roof."

"I could go live with Isobel. She's supporting me in this, why can't you?"

Mary sighed and held a hand to her face. "Sybil, darling, Isobel has very different values than Mama and Papa, and she can't possibly see how this could hurt you."

"How could it, though?"

"As much as I want to side with you, you're going to see horrible things if you become a nurse. Disfigured men who scream their heads off like babies and can't help but soil themselves in the middle of the night. And Mama and Papa don't want you seeing those sorts of thing."

Sybil walked away from the mirror and sat on the bed beside Mary. "But don't they see that I'm stronger than I look?"

"Remember, darling, to them you're the little girl who cried over cricket, not the strong young woman that you are. And maybe they're wrong, but they do have a point. You're still young and naive, and they want to protect your innocence."

"This is war, there's no such thing as innocence remaining."

Mary shook her head. "They want to disprove that. But you know what? Show them that you actually care."

"How? I mean, I can argue with them, but that never seems to get me anywhere."

"Go and help, without their permission. Maybe you can't go train to be a nurse without Papa allowing you to do so, but go volunteer at the hospital. At least spend some time with soldiers who have no one. Then they'll see that you actually care about them, the wounded men, and they might be quicker to approve of you."

* * *

Matthew glanced over the letter from his mother again, smiling as he did so. It was nice to hear what was happening at home, and he couldn't help but be a little bit proud of Sybil and her determination.

"Good news, sir?" asked Davis, his batman, as they sat in the dugout of the trench.

"I suppose you could say that. My fiancee is trying to become a nurse, so my mother is helping her with that. It shouldn't surprise me, in fact it doesn't, but I'm just very proud of her."

David nodded. "I didn't know that you were engaged."

"In a sense, yes."

"How does that work? Either you're engaged or you're not engaged, isn't that how it goes?"

Matthew put down the letter and smiled softly. "Well, it's not really by choice."

"Oh. An arranged marriage? I wouldn't have thought you were the type of man to be involved in that sort of thing. You don't strike me as someone who would approve of something like that."

"I'm not the biggest fan. At first it was just to keep peace in a family that might have fallen apart otherwise, but I do like Sybil. We're very good friends, we're just not...in love, I guess. But I've realized that it could be much worse."

Davis nodded grimly. "I suppose you're right. Still, it must sting to not have a choice."

* * *

"It did. It...it does. Sometimes, when I think about how I always dreamed of marrying for love, it still stings a little bit. Sometimes, when I think..." he shook his head. His mind was drifting to one he should not go to. "But the fact that it's Sybil I'm forced to marry makes it sting less."

"But she's planning to become a nurse?"

"Yes, as far as my mother tells me. My mother is trying to get her into a college for auxiliary nurses so that she can train..."

* * *

Sybil gingerly walked through the front doors of the hospital, the pungent smell of antiseptic filling her nose as soon as she closed the door behind her. She steeled herself. This wasn't going to be easy, but she had to do this. She needed to help.

Isobel, thankfully, was the first person to spot her. "Sybil! Why have you come here?"

"I'd like to volunteer, at least, if that's allowed," she said, shyly. "Mary suggested that if I volunteered, my parents might take better to the idea of me nursing. But if that's not allowed, then I suppose I'll just have to convince them that I'm capable."

"Of course we have volunteers, though I'm not sure if there is anything you're really allowed to do beyond spending time with the soldiers, but of course you're welcome to do that if you so wish."

Sybil nodded. "I'd be glad to. Anyone in particular to talk to?"

"Anyone who doesn't have someone visiting them, I suppose," Isobel said, waving her hand over the ward. "So I suppose you have your pick."

"Well, since I don't know any of them, any pick will be random..." Sybil replied, smiling at her cousin. "Thank you. And, if you wouldn't mind, it would be nice of you to let it drop to my parents that I came here to volunteer."

"They won't be angry at you?"

Sybil shrugged. "They shouldn't be. And if they are, hopefully you can remind them why they shouldn't be."

Isobel patted Sybil's shoulder. "Sometimes, my dear, you can be quite devious."

"I only want to do what's right. And if that takes a little bit of breaking the rules, so be it." She left Isobel and walked into the main part of the hospital, where soldiers were occupying every bed. Some were terribly deformed, and others simply looked terribly sad. She took in another deep breath, ignoring the strong smells and stepped toward a bed, pulling up a chair.

"Hello," she said.

The soldier turned his face toward her, and immediately, Sybil realized that he couldn't see her. His eyes were glazed and unfocused. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice disconcerted.

"I'm Sybil Crawley. I'm sure some of you get lonely, so I'm here to spend time with you, if that's alright. I'll leave you alone if you'd rather be alone."

He aimlessly held out a hand. "Lieutenant Theodore Anderson. Youngest son of Sir James Anderson, if that means anything to you."

"Well, I'm the youngest daughter of the Earl of Grantham, so I suppose it probably should," Sybil replied.

"Ah, so you're trying to get one up on me?"

"No!" Sybil defended. "But I'm certain our circles have crossed at some point. Has anyone been to see you?"

Theodore shook his head. "My father came a couple days ago, but he seems pretty disappointed in me. And I suppose he has a right. I couldn't last four damn months out there without going blind." He blanched. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't swear around a lady."

"It's perfectly alright. And that doesn't make you useless. It isn't fair of him to think that of you."

"Maybe. I don't know. But I'm angry at myself. I wanted to go off just because all of my friends were going, and look where I ended up."

Sybil looked down at her hands. "My fiancee did that as well.."

"And it isn't working out for him either?"

"As far as I know, he's doing alright. But I'm so scared for him. I don't even truly love him and I'm terrified for him. But that's not something to burden you with."

Theodore laughed. "Oh, believe me, I've been thinking about myself ever since I got here. I could do with realizing that other people have problems too."

"You're very self aware."

"I've spent far too long in this bed. I'm supposed to be released in a few days, but to where, I have no idea. They do have convalescent homes but they're all so full that it's hard to find one nearby."

Sybil sighed. "I wish I knew what I could do to help with that."

"Think about it. You're probably intelligent enough to figure out something."

"You hardly know me."

Theodore smirked. "That's why I said probably."

Sybil surveyed him, from his unfocused gray eyes to his feet, covered by a rather ugly blue blanket. "Are you certain you're feeling alright?"

"Why are you here, anyway? Not that I'm not glad of the company, because I've been rather lonely, hence the constant thinking. But what are you doing here, talking with a poor blind soldier?"

"I want to be a nurse," Sybil said proudly, "but I'm not sure if my parents will let me. So I thought volunteering at the hospital might help to convince them. If that doesn't sound too selfish..."

Theodore nodded. "Wanting to help others shouldn't be selfish. But I hope your parents will be convinced. You seem like a rather nice girl, and I'm sure many men would be happy to have you as a nurse."

"Well, thank you for the encouragement."

"Thank you for the company," Theodore replied. "Good luck in convincing your parents. If they ever want a reference from a stranger, they can come to me."

Sybil glanced at the clock. It was nearly time to get changed for dinner. "I'll think on the convalescent home situation. I'm not sure how much I can do, but I'll make friends in high places if I have to."

"You're rather ambitious."

"Can I help it if I know how to get what I want?"

Theodore laughed. "Well, you're certainly not shy about it."

"I have to leave, unfortunately, but good luck with everything."

"And to you."

* * *

Sybil barely made it downstairs before Carson announced that dinner was ready. She blushed heavily as Mary stared at her, concerned, but she did not say anything. Isobel gave her a knowing smile.

Tonight she would ask.

She took her seat at the table, and allowed conversation to happen naturally. She didn't want to upset the balance of things too much.

But when it just felt too still, she needed to say something. She swallowed the last of her glass of wine and plucked up her courage. "Papa?"

"Yes?" He almost looked annoyed, as if he knew what she was going to asks was going to be unreasonable. But it wasn't. It wasn't unreasonable, and it wasn't fair of him to categorize it as such.

"I know you might not like this, but I feel I have to make a contribution to the war effort, and I'd like to train to be a nurse."

A pin might have dropped, and the effect would still have been heard. Cora's eyes grew wide, Carson's grip tightened on the glass he was holding, and Robert was starting to get red in the face.

Sybil knew they would be surprised. But why should they be angry?

"Are you quite sure? You're still rather young, perhaps it isn't the right contribution for you to make. Of course we'll find something for you to do, just maybe not that..." Robert glared at Isobel with ice in his eyes. He knew.

"I'm quite sure," Sybil responded, with strength in her voice. "Plenty of women are doing it, even royals! Why shouldn't I? I'm technically an adult, and it isn't like I'm a weak, stupid little girl."

Robert's eyes narrowed. "You're more naive than you think you are. We just want to protect you."

"And I don't want to be protected!"

"I think Sybil has a right to help as she sees fit," Mary piped up.

Robert glared at his daughter. "Mary, you aren't helping."

"Why should I help you if I agree with Sybil?" Mary muttered, and Sybil cast her a grateful look across the table.

"I personally think it's an excellent idea," Isobel said. "Sybil has been very responsible and thorough in researching her options and she's more informed than you think."

"And I suppose it was you who gave her this idea," Robert accused.

Sybil shook her head. "Actually, it was Matthew's idea. He and I were talking about the war effort and he said that if he wasn't fighting, he would feel useless, and I told him that I did feel useless, so he suggested I talk to Isobel about nursing."

"But what finally prompted you to do this?" Cora asked.

"Too many friends of mine have died, and I can't just sit around and watch while they give their lives!" Sybil shouted.

Robert put a hand up. "Sybil, there is no need to shout at the table."

"Perhaps there is if you won't listen to me!"

Cora took a sip of her wine. "Darling, as long as you're sure you want to do this. It'll be horrific, and you'll see things that I have no desire to expose you to."

"I went down to the hospital today to talk with some of the soldiers, it isn't as if I haven't seen it before. And I don't care. I want to help."

"Am I outnumbered then?" Robert asked. "Do I get no say in this?"

Sybil stood up defiantly. "You've had your say. But the rest of us don't agree with what you've had to say."

* * *

A knock on her door.

Sybil put down her book and stood up as Mary came in.

"He's relented," Mary said, taking a seat in a chair in the corner.

A grin spread across Sybil's face. "Really? He has?"

Mary nodded. "Reluctantly, but he realized it was all of us against him. He's going to put a limit on how many hours Clarkson lets you work, but honestly, I don't think there was much more he could do to stop you."

Sybil stepped toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

She gulped. She couldn't tell Mary the truth, of course. She wanted to tell Tom. He would be interested in her accomplishment and perhaps even proud. She wanted to see that on his face. But she couldn't tell Mary any of that.

"I'm going to go thank Papa," she lied smoothly.

"It won't win you any new favors from him."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "But I want him to see how much I want this."

"Is this really what you want? I can't quite imagine wishing to work. It seems rather against human nature."

"I feel compelled to do this, Mary. Yes, nursing is what I want to do. I have to help, can't you see?"

Mary shrugged. "Maybe I don't. But Sybil?"

Sybil paused in the doorway.

"I am proud of you."

* * *

Sybil knocked on the door once more, and Molesley answered. He knew what she was after by now, and led her into the sitting room where Isobel was reading. "Hello, Cousin Isobel," Sybil said, after Molesley had announced her.

Isobel smiled at Sybil. "Are you ready to head off tomorrow?"

"I think I am," Sybil said, taking a seat across from Isobel. "I've had a few of the servants teach me basic skills that I unfortunately lack. I feel quite an idiot, but at least I won't look like one when I start training."

"And how are your parents taking it?"

Sybil ducked her head bashfully. "They know there's nothing they can do to stop me, so they've decided not to interfere."

"You know, I don't approve of your disrespect when you told them. I agree with your reasoning, but you were rather rude."

"There was nothing else I could do to get the point across," Sybil protested.

Isobel put down her tea cup. "That may be true, but just know that perhaps there are more diplomatic ways of putting an argument."

Sybil groaned and leaned back against the couch. "I've already heard this lecture from Mary. I apologized to them."

"I'm glad you've done that, at least."

The door was opened, and Molesley came in, a piece of paper in his hand. "Mrs. Crawley? There's a telegram for you here. It's from the war office."

Sybil saw all the color drain out of Isobel's face as she took the telegram. Sybil's own heart began to beat faster as Isobel tore open the paper. It had to be something about Matthew. And if it came in a telegram from the war office, it was almost certainly nothing good.

Isobel didn't even comprehend what was written on the paper when she read it the first time. The only words she was looking for were 'dead' and 'killed', neither of which were on the paper. She breathed a sigh of relief before reading it over again.

"What does it say?" Sybil pressed.

Isobel was still pale. "Matthew is coming back home."

* * *

 _Matthew is coming back! Why, however? Because cliffhangers are fun! Sometimes I can be an evil writer. But despite my occasional evilness, thank you all again for your support and please review!_


	9. Chapter 9

He opened his eyes and straight above him was canvas. He could hear the rain drumming down, a familiar cold swept through the tent, and he shivered. His vision was foggy, but his mind was rapidly clearing.

Where was he? He glanced around and then down at his body. His arm was in a sling and encased in plaster, but otherwise, everything else seemed intact. Maybe he was lucky.

He tried to push himself up into a sitting position, and immediately a nurse came over and gently instructed him not go get up. "Careful, Lieutenant Crawley," she said, flashing a charming smile. "We can't have you hurting yourself any more."

"What's going on?" he demanded.

"You're still in France, in a field hospital. You've broken your arm, but nothing that can't be fixed with another month or two of rest. You'll be sent back to England tomorrow, and if the doctors in London are satisfied, they'll send you back home for convalescent leave. Are you feeling alright? Would you like any pain medication."

Matthew shook his head. Truth be told, his arm was throbbing somewhat, but it wasn't awful and he'd rather have a clear head. "But everything should be alright? No permanent damage?"

The nurse shook her head. "No. You'll be perfectly fine once the bone heals. Now, would you like something to eat?"

"Yes, thank you," he said, shuffling further under the covers. He took note of how he was feeling. His left arm, naturally, was painful, but not so much that he couldn't withstand it. The rest of his body ached slightly, but again, it was nothing beyond his handle. It couldn't hurt to be home for a month or so. But then again, he'd be leaving his men in the middle of war. What about the new recruits who had just come in a few weeks ago? They were small and frightened and he had hoped to show them how to be strong.

He hadn't been on any leave yet at all. He didn't know how it would feel, to be home again. But other men had told him that it was difficult to adjust again. And that idea scared him. What would Sybil think if he suddenly forgot how to hold a knife? Forget that, what would Mary think if he had no idea how to function in his former life?

The nurse came back with a tray of food and carefully helped him into a sitting position so that he could eat. He hated feeling weak and helpless, but at least he supposed that it wouldn't last very long.

He could handle this. And he was going home. All he had to tell himself was that going home was good. He could see his mother again, see Sybil and Mary, and get some decent sleep without fear of being blown up.

He was going home. And going home was good.

* * *

Sybil sat in the back of the car, nervously clutching her satchel as the car pulled into York. The nursing college was growing nearer and nearer. And she almost didn't want to go, after hearing that Matthew had been injured.

It wasn't serious, she reminded herself. Just enough to send him home for a month or so, and then he'd be in fine fighting shape afterward.

But she wouldn't see him at all. Her course was two and a half months, and certainly he would be back to France by then.

Two and a half months. That was an awfully long time to be away from her family. Sybil took a deep breath as Tom pulled the car in front of the school.

"Are you ready, milady?" he asked, getting out and opening the door for her.

Sybil took his hand as she stepped down from the car. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be, I suppose."

"Good," he said, taking her trunk out of the back of the car. "I've been told to walk you in by your parents, and take you straight back home if anything seems out of place, but unless you decide that it is, I'm not going to do that to you. I know how much this means to you."

"Do you?" Sybil challenged.

"I've driven you to the hospital all those times you've wanted to volunteer. You've gone on three separate shopping trips to Ripon exclusively to buy medical books. And Mrs. Crawley is a rather talkative woman when it's just her and I in the car. I've watched this unfold, and I've seen how much you care. And I think that's incredible of you. In fact, I like you're an incredible woman who..."

"Tom, please don't..."

Tom looked down at the trunk. "It costs everything I have to say it, but Lady Sybil Crawley, I'm in love with you."

Sybil closed her eyes, unable to look at him straight on. "It can't be, you know."

"Because you're engaged? If you don't really love him, then you should break with him! It'll be better for you both in the long run."

"I don't want to hurt him!" Sybil protested. "Especially not now, when even a little bit of heartbreak could cause him to become reckless, and I really don't want that. And who's to say I'm in love with you?"

Tom's expression was one of challenge. "You are. And I think... if you realize, beyond your compulsions to be kind to everyone, that what you really want is beyond the realm of what you can get, love means more than you think."

"That's vague."

"But it's true. But if you're not convinced, I suppose I must offer my resignation."

Sybil shook her head. "No, please don't. I won't tell anyone about what you said. I need someone sane around at least, right?"

"Is that what I am to you? Someone sane?"

"I don't know!" Sybil cried. "If you'd just let me think for myself for once!"

He stepped backward. "I'm sorry... It's just that I'm so madly... I suppose my reasoning isn't very solid. But since it isn't costing me my job, which I am incredibly grateful for, I'll say it once more before I leave. I love you, Sybil Crawley."

"And I wish I could give you a definite response." Sybil replied. "If everything wasn't so difficult. But I have one request. Don't force me. If I want to do it, have no doubt that I will. But the situation is so complicated that a definite decision might be hard to come to."

Tom's eyes lit up. "But I might have hope?"

"There's no harm in a little bit of hope, is there?"

If she was truthful in her own thoughts, her heart soared with the bit of hope she allowed it.

* * *

The train was rather relaxing, to Matthew's surprise. The ambiance was consistent, and he was able to sleep for a good hour of the journey. Of course, as a wounded soldier, people left him alone and did not disturb him, something he was very grateful for.

It was once he stepped off of the train that the odd dissonance between his life at Downton and his life in France began.

His mother greeted him with a wide smile at the train station. "Matthew!" she cried, as he stepped off the train. She rushed forward to him, surveying everything. "Nothing too bad, thank goodness. I was so afraid when you were injured, even though they said it wasn't very serious. Sometimes they don't know what they're talking about." She awkwardly hugged the side that his broken arm was not on. "I'm so glad you're home, my darling boy."

He glanced up at the train station. It seemed unchanged, and yet the sheer multitude of soldiers around him showed that change was rampant. "It's good to be home. I've missed you. And Sybil?"

"You've just missed her, she went off to the nursing college a few days ago, and she won't be done for another two and a half months," Isobel explained with regret in her voice. "Hopefully you're not too disappointed."

"Well, I'll miss her. It's a shame we missed each other. But I'm very glad that she's working at becoming a nurse. I think it'll suit her."

Isobel smiled and led him down the stairs as they walked toward Crawley House. "I hope you don't mind the walk."

"Not at all. I've been stuck in cars and trains for the past couple of days, and I'm so used to being outside now that it might help me."

"I'm glad. You wouldn't believe the havoc Sybil's desire wreaked, though. Robert was fuming, although eventually, she was able to argue her case effectively, with help from Mary and I."

Matthew raised an eyebrow. "Ah, Mary supports her? At least she had someone in her immediate family on her side. That's good."

"She's an interesting woman," Isobel replied. "Is it a relief to be back from the front?"

"I honestly don't know," Matthew said. "It's odd, actually. It's just so quiet, and everything is so still. It scares me. As if something is going to happen any minute, and there's going to be an explosion or gunfire. It's just too quiet."

Isobel looked at him in sympathy. "You're safe here, so there's no need to worry. Would you like to go up to dinner out the house tomorrow? I know Sybil won't be there, but I think it would be nice for the family to see you again."

Practically alone? With Mary? Matthew was hesitant; he and Mary were friends again, but their relationship was not the most comfortable of relationships and he wasn't sure how they were to take up again. But his mind could not come up with a valid excuse to say no. "That sounds wonderful," he said, forcing a smile that was entirely too bright.

"Good," Isobel said, patting his right hand. "Are you in any pain at all?"

He shook his head. "Nothing beyond normal, expected pains. They gave me medicine but I don't like taking it because it makes my head feel all fuzzy and I can't think. And I can't stand that."

"You're very lucky, you know? And I'm glad to have you home for a while."

Matthew looked down at his feet. "Yes, I know. I'm far more lucky than I deserve."

* * *

Dinner proved to be difficult. He wasn't quite sure how to function here again; it was so different than the strict order that he had grown used to back in the trenches. Here he had no assignment, and his conversation was not dictated by the latest movements or the conditions of the trenches. Instead, he was totally alone to try and and make pleasant conversation when he seemed to have no knowledge of anything anymore.

Besides that, it was difficult only being able to use his right hand. He found it near impossible to cut up his beef, and he could feel cold eyes on him as he failed to do so. Eventually, he figured out how to cut it up with only one hand, but most of the family was nearly done by the time he started.

A flush grew on his cheeks, and he quickly consumed the rest of his course.

When he finally seemed to the point where he could cut up his own food without failure, Mary turned to him and forced a smile. "I'm very glad you're back."

"Only for a while," he replied, taking a bite of his cake. He had missed Mrs. Patmore's cake. His favorite food had been woefully absent from the diet of the soldiers. "Once I heal again, I'll be back in France."

"Don't let's think about that now," Mary cautioned. "You're safe for now, that's what matters."

Matthew shook his head. "In a way, I kind of look forward to going back. I just... feel so out of place again. Like I just came here and I don't belong. And I know it's not you, none of you are trying to make me feel that way. But it's just... difficult to adjust, I guess."

"But you're alright with being here, aren't you?"

"It's nice to have a real bed, and to not fear being blown up, if that's what you're wondering. And I certainly have missed cake. Soldier's rations simply do not compare to these exquisite meals."

Mary laughed. "I'll be sure to tell Mrs. Patmore that you said that."

"Do. Maybe I'll get more cake if she hears that I've been complimentary," Matthew replied, with a smirk. He took another bite of the cake.

"How did it happen?" she asked.

He didn't know what she was talking about. "How did what happen?"

"Your arm... How did you hurt it? I mean, obviously it was on the battlefield, but what exactly happened?"

Matthew shifted in his seat and grimaced at the memory. "Well, in a way it's kind of silly, actually. We were getting back to the trench, and there was some sort of attack upon us, although my memory about that is a little bit fuzzy, but anyway, I was right above the trench and one of the privates saw the attack coming and pushed me into the trench and jumped in after me. Unfortunately, I didn't know that was happening, so I wasn't prepared for the fall. So, being the graceful man that I am, I fell badly on my arm and managed to hit my head so that it knocked me out."

"That sounds awful," Mary said sympathetically. "Was he right to push you?"

"Oh, the poor little boy," Matthew remembered, with a small smile and a shake of his head. "He couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen, but he came to see me when I was in the field hospital and he was so scared that I was going to punish him. But he had the right instincts. We might have been killed, or hurt far worse, if had not done that. So all was forgiven. He was so afraid though, so I had to remind him that the army was not a place of condemnation, but one of bravery. And he was very brave."

Mary took a bite of her own cake. "Well, he has a very brave leader to look up to," she complimented. "No wonder your men are so good."

"I'm not sure how you could possibly know that, especially since it isn't true, but no matter. I hope they're all brave. I hope they're all alright... I feel so terrible for not being there with them, I should be there, leading them. But instead, I'm back here, and honestly, I've never had this much free time in my life. What does one do with it all?"

Mary shrugged. "Unfortunately, my life is fairly boring, so I'm not the person to ask about that."

"To be fair, you're looking at an industrial lawyer of all things, my work would probably bore you to tears."

"Probably. But you could read the multitudes of books on your legendary bookshelf. Sybil speaks of it quite often. Don't tell her I told you this, but she steals from it. A lot. And then she says that they're from our library, but I know she's lying because one summer I did an entire inventory of the library because I was so bored and it was so hot, and the library was fairly cool. But anyway, I know we don't have all the works of Shakespeare."

Matthew laughed lightly. "Well, at least someone is enjoying them when I can't. But reading does sound fairly appealing. Of course, Mother will be angry with me if I spend my entire leave in my study."

"Walk the estate, then. You're probably in better health than the rest of us, you can certainly spare a few hours every day to walk the estate. After all, fresh, clean country air never hurt anybody."

"That's rather a lonely hobby."

Mary rolled her eyes. "And reading, alone in your study, isn't? Perhaps you need to rethink the definition of loneliness."

"Maybe it wouldn't be so lonely if someone walked with me."

"Are you implying something?"

He smirked. "Would you be offended if I was?" This was more like it. He was beginning to feel confident again, the anxiety that plagued him upon his return dissolving as he was able to lightheartedly banter with Mary.

"No, actually. Just surprised you would ask."

* * *

Sybil sat on her bed, glancing over the medical textbook that she had found in the small library. The course was more hands on than anything else, but Sybil still felt terribly behind in her knowledge of the body, so every day when the trainees were allowed free time, she would sit on her small bed in the dormitory and read medical texts.

The words were seeming to blur together, and she couldn't concentrate on the different degrees of burns any more. The past couple of weeks had been far different than anything Sybil had experienced, but a part of her liked the feeling of working, of doing something that was going to contribute. And considering that the last learning had come from her governess, it was a relief to be in an educational course again.

But the past weeks left her absolutely exhausted. She wasn't used to getting up at the crack of dawn and bending over mannequins for hours. At night, however, she found that it was hard to sleep because at the college they were sent to bed far earlier than she was used to. So she would lie awake, trying to straighten all the facts she had learned in her head. And occasionally, more often than she would like, her thoughts would drift to Tom.

Tom, who had so eagerly confessed his love, not quite understanding how difficult the situation was. She tried to be cool with him. It was no use getting his hopes up when the chance of working anything out were next to nothing. She didn't want to get involved. She didn't want to hurt her family, and she especially didn't want to hurt Matthew.

So why did he drift into her thoughts so much? She tried to push him away in her mind, but it was no use. His bright, but frightened eyes kept appearing in her mind. And her response. That she didn't want to hurt anyone.

How stupid that sounded, if she really was in love.

But was she in love with him?

She certainly liked him. He was intelligent, he shared a lot of her views, and she enjoyed being around him. She would even count him as a friend, as odd as that would seem to most of her station. And he was certainly attractive, there was no denying that. But love?

Sybil didn't really know what love was, though. Of course, she knew familial love, especially when it came to Mary, who was her closest friend And she saw love between her parents, who always talked about how lucky they were. But what really was love to Sybil? And could she give everything up for an abstract concept?

She put the medical text under the bedside table and pulled out a letter from the drawer. Mary had written to her a few days ago, detailing all the happenings at Downton since she left. Apparently, Bates's ex-wife had come to cause trouble, but there was none to be caused. They finally got a new housemaid after Gwen left, and Mary didn't like her. And of course, Matthew was home.

Sybil carefully scanned the page again. Mary detailed Matthew's injury, consoling her that there was absolutely nothing to worry about. Sybil felt terrible for not being able to see him, but bad timing could not be avoiding. Mary, however, did comment that he seemed rather skittish and uncomfortable. Sybil had written back, informing Mary that soldiers often appeared that way. It did made her slightly afraid that he was that way as well.

She tucked the letter back into the drawer and glanced at the clock. It was time for dinner, and her stomach was beginning to growl.

* * *

Mary was seated on the bench when Matthew strode toward her. The bright, cheerful grin of days long gone no longer graced his face, but he seemed happy enough. At least he wasn't looking anxious and stressed like he had been at all of the dinners he had attended.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, as he took a seat beside her on the bench.

He shrugged, careful not to hurt his arm. "Alright. The doctor says I should be sent back to France in another two weeks, although they won't send me back to the front until a couple weeks after that."

"That's good news, isn't it?" Mary prompted. "Although we'll certainly miss you here. And we'll all worry for your safety."

"I'm barely getting used to being back here, and then there will be another rough transition back to the front. Nothing really makes sense anymore, and that's what scares me the most."

Mary stared at her shoes, unsure how to respond. She had no way of knowing what he was going through. "You don't need your sling anymore, though," she said, glancing at his arm. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"It's healing, so yes, I'd say that's good. Would you like to go walk somewhere?" he asked, suddenly nervous. "I find that I can't really sit still for very long."

"Of course," Mary said, standing from the bench. Matthew quickly followed her, and they started walking toward a path. "What is it like? In France, I mean."

He bit his lip and made his strides longer. "It's difficult to talk about, really. I can't describe it. I don't think anyone could. But I just can't really talk about it. I'm sorry, I suppose that's not the answer you're looking for."

"That tells me all I need to know," Mary replied, sorrow evident in her features.

"Really, it's not as bad as all that."

Mary placed a comforting hand on his wrist. "You're trying to console me. Be aware that I'm too pragmatic for that. I can believe that it's absolutely horrible. I won't ever know the full extent and for that I'm honestly grateful, but you don't need to lie to me."

He was fully facing her now, his blue eyes locking into her brown, and he didn't have anything to respond. For a few seconds, there was nothing but difficult eye contact that Matthew felt that he couldn't break. Her expression was so mournful that he couldn't help but mirror her, as if longing for something that could never be. He became dizzy and unaware of reality.

So he did the only thing that came to mind.

He kissed her.

It was short, as it only took him a few seconds to realize what he was doing. He wasn't sure if it was he or Mary who pulled away first, but both were rather shocked. His mind raced. How could he do this? What sort of disloyal bastard had war turned him into?

Mary broke the heavy silence that had settled. "We can't do that."

"I know!" Matthew yelled defensively. "I don't know what I was thinking... Look, I'm sorry, please forgive me."

She took the opportunity to glance at his face, and saw may emotions. Agonizing guilt, fear, anxiety, and worst of all, disgust. And she couldn't tell if he was disgusted with himself or with her. "I suppose I have to forgive you."

"Why? You certainly don't owe me any loyalty."

"Remember when you saved me from Pamuk? I certainly think that deserves loyalty. And you're going to marry my sister. I don't want us to live with a dark cloud over any relationship we might have. So if I don't forgive you, things are going to be awful."

Matthew cast his eyes downward. "So that's the only reason you won't hold this against me? For peace?"

"To be fair, isn't that the only reason you're marrying Sybil?"

He had no response.

"I thought so," she replied, a haughtiness in her voice. "But actually...if I'm honest, I wish it could be real."

He swallowed thickly, gazing at her. And he realized something. "So do I." The truth had come out, but he felt no relief. Instead, he only felt like a traitor. Which he supposed that he was. "So do I," he repeated, quickly adding, "But we can't, of course. For Sybil's sake."

"Of course," Mary echoed. "I don't want to hurt Sybil, and I know you don't want to either. And I don't want to hurt my family, as they'll be wont to be if you don't marry someone who can give you an heir."

"I'm so sorry they treat you like that."

"I'm used to it," Mary shrugged. "The real trouble is, how do we keep from doing that again? Of course we don't want a dark cloud over us, but..."

Matthew sighed. "But we're not very good at self control, are we?" he mourned. "I know we can't just stay away... But never being alone together, that could possibly work." He stepped back from her. "I think we'll need to tell Sybil."

"Must we?" Mary begged. "I love Sybil, and this will only hurt her. And I don't want her to get hurt, especially while we're in the middle of a war. She doesn't need this on top of everything."

"I still think we should tell her eventually," Matthew insisted. "Maybe not right now, because going to her as soon as she gets back and saying 'sorry, I accidentally kissed your sister' is not going to help anything. But eventually."

Mary nodded slowly. "I appreciate your consideration for her. I know you really do love her, in your own way."

"What do you think it would have been like, if it had been you rather than Sybil who they'd forced into this?" Matthew asked, beginning to step toward the path that led to the house. They needed to get somewhere where they would be in sight of everyone.

"I would have hated you," Mary replied, without a hint of irony in her voice. "Honesty, I probably would have. You were taking my home, the money is should have, and my freedom of choice."

"Well that's good to know."

"But eventually I would have grown to admire you, I think. Especially since I wasn't very fond of you when you arrived."

Matthew laughed softly. "No, but then again, I wasn't exactly very impressive."

"Before we go back," Mary began, "I have to ask you. Are you really sure that we should tell Sybil?"

"I want a marriage based on honesty. And if we don't tell her, and she finds out, she'll resent us, and that would completely ruin an already precarious marriage."

"Are you really that precarious?"

Matthew took quicker steps forward. "If things like this keep happening, then yes, we really are that precarious."

* * *

 _Thank you all so much for reading; it honestly shocks me how many people care about my little AU. And feel free to scream incoherently at me. Writers like that. Thank you and please review!_


	10. Chapter 10

He was back.

There had been a part of him longing for this all the time that he was away. He knew that it was irrational, and he should have dreaded going back, but he felt a loyalty to his men that could not be shaken.

The mud was soaking through his boots and his socks were already entirely wet. He had been back in the trenches for a grand total of three hours. Perhaps his desire to come back had been fueled by his lack of sleep here. Now that he was well rested, having spent the last two months in warm beds rather than trying to block out explosions in a cold dugout, he could remember the horror of the place, and it made him shudder.

But he was here. He had to be here for his men. Five that he knew well had died since he left. He supposed that wasn't as bad as it could have been, but he quietly mourned each one of them while continuing on with his work. Seven more had been sent back home wounded. and when given any time, he would sit in the dugout and silently pray for them, that they might survive. Not only that they might survive, but that they might not be so badly injured. There was nothing soldiers feared more than going home completely broken. Most would rather die instead.

"Lieutenant Crawley!" Captain Roth, his commanding officer, walked toward him, a grim look on his face. Matthew had never seen him without that grim look, but he supposed that it was appropriate. "Good to see you back."

Matthew nodded and took the captain's proffered hand. "It's good to be back, sir."

"Is it really so good?" Roth asked coldly.

"I felt disloyal," Matthew explained. "I should be here, fighting, while I was at home. And I was trying to reconcile myself with it the whole time I was there. It's just so different, I'm not exactly sure how to manage. But I needed to be here with the men, as well."

Roth sighed and patted Matthew on the back. "Someday, that strict loyalty of yours is going to bring you down."

"Is it so bad to be loyal to my men? In Greece, a hero was someone who put his men above himself."

"And here in France, it's every man for himself, Crawley. Put all those heroic notions away. You've been out here more than six months, I thought you would have figured that out by now."

Matthew didn't respond, instead glaring at his soaking boots.

"You've heard the reports, I assume?"

"The gassing at Ypres? Simply awful. If they havea weapon like that, who knows what they can do?"

Roth stood up straight. "Don't think like that, Crawley. The strategists have a plan."

"I certainly hope so, sir," Matthew replied, saluting, and turning away from Captain Roth.

* * *

Sybil wrung her hands over the basin, and wiped them on the fresh white towel. "Nurse Adler?" she asked, as one of the older nurses, who had been working at the hospital since she was a child, came into the room.

"Yes, Lady Sybil?" she replied.

"Just Nurse Crawley, please," Sybil corrected, trying not to roll her eyes. Nurse Adler still thought that she was the little girl who came in with a broken elbow from climbing a tree. She had told Patrick that she could climb higher than him. She was right, naturally, but she ended up suffering with the proof.

"Of course," Nurse Adler replied, her tone implying that she would go on with calling Sybil by the same name. "What was it that you wanted?"

"Just an assignment."

"You're early," Nurse Adler observed, squinting. "You're a whole hour early. Why?"

"I woke up. I couldn't go back to sleep, so I thought I could be useful down here. But I can wait if your schedule is so perfect that it cannot be changed."

Nurse Adler stepped toward Sybil. "Look, I know you think that you're being wonderful and a perfect selfless paragon, and you love to show that off, but please don't. We have jobs to do here."

"And I want to help," Sybil replied, with determination. "Is there anyone I can help with?"

"If there's anyone you're capable of helping," Nurse Adler replied, with a biting hesitance. "I suppose you could bring them their breakfasts along with their pain medications." She waved her hand over in the direction of the beds. "Their dosages are on the charts at the end of their beds."

"I know," Sybil replied forcefully.

"There's no need to get angry with me!" Nurse Adler defended. "I only want to help a new nurse."

Sybil swept past her. "Thank you. I can find my own way, though, even if I am the helpless daughter of an earl."

As she prepared breakfast trays with small cups of medication, she silently fumed. She had felt some of this at the nursing college, the reverse snobbery where they would say that because Sybil had never worked a day in her life, she wasn't capable of nursing well now. Why should a person be defined by where she was born?

She knew she was being irrational. Others suffered much more from the class system than she did.

Still, a part of her hated the enormous privilege that had guided her life. There was no escaping it. Never would she be allowed to do things for herself. And even when she was trying to do everything that she could to help, she was thought of as needing help herself.

There was one way to escape that...

No, it was no good thinking drastic thoughts. Especially not now, when surrounded by the sick and dying. They were all suffering far worse than she was, and she was complaining about her privilege?

But he offered her an escape. And she would gladly take it immediately if there weren't so many other problems with it. She couldn't use him, not just as an escape. If she married him just go get out of the aristocracy, that would breed bitterness between them, and she could not stand for that. But if she loved him, that would be a different story.

Did she? The question rolled over and over in her mind as she made her rounds to the soldiers, offering each one a compassionate smile, but her thoughts directed elsewhere. Did she really love Tom Branson? Or, if she didn't now, could she?

* * *

Matthew sat against the trench wall, his knees pulled up to his chest, absolutely exhausted from the fighting earlier in the day. He had mostly been trying to avoid bombardment, as well as encouraging his men to do the same. Now it was quiet, except for the ring of far away gunshots that made him shudder. He was relatively safe right now. Other people were not.

He pulled himself up to his feet, still crouching low so that no German would see him and shoot him. There had been one killed that way in the afternoon. A stretcher bearer, holding a cigarette and trying to stay calm as he carried a nearly dead man back to the trench.

That stretcher bearer had died. The other one had been Thomas Barrow, of all people.

Matthew had not expected that the former footman would be serving in the army. He didn't seem the type to sacrifice himself. But what a twist of irony that their battalions should be fighting side by side.

He nodded to all the men who sat, not caring about the mud, under the shadow of the wall. Most were smoking, some were choking down rations, some writing letters, and some simply staring blankly ahead. Sometimes there was nothing else to be done.

As he passed through more of the maze, he saw a head poke out of a small dugout. It was Thomas Barrow.

"Would you like some tea, sir?" he asked. For once, the 'sir' was not mocking or biting, simply respectful.

Matthew nodded and slipped into the tiny dugout. "This is rather cozy."

"Better than being completely exposed to the elements, I'd say," Thomas replied, pouring some weak but steaming tea into a tin cup. "Here you are."

Matthew took a sip and breathed a sigh of relief. It was perfectly awful, if he was to tell the truth; the tea was extremely weak, and it was low quality in the first place, but considering where he was, nothing had tasted better. "Thank you for that."

"What an odd place to entertain the future Earl of Grantham," Thomas said flippantly. "Who would have thought we'd have ended up here?"

"Who indeed," Matthew repeated. "But that's war for you. War distinguishes between the things that matter and the things that don't."

Thomas nodded, a haunted look in his icy eyes. "I didn't sign up for this, you know."

"I wondered. You don't seem like the sort to go off right away. Not that you're an awful person for that or anything but..."

"I'm not offended, because you're right. I wouldn't have signed up to come out here. In fact, I tried to get in with the Medical Corps, but they sent me out here. And all I want is to go home. Do you think there's ever a chance they'll send me back to work maybe near Downton?"

Matthew took another sip of the tea. "You'd have to get out of active service. The only way to do that, really, is to get wounded, since they want every man on the front that they can get. But intentionally wounding yourself wouldn't do you any good either; they'll shoot you for cowardice."

"That sounds pretty stupid," Thomas replied. He bit his lip, remembering who he was talking to.

"Maybe," Matthew replied, giving Thomas a small smile. "Kill off any man who has a normal reaction to war? That's not going to help your numbers. But they want discipline, and that's what they have to do."

"Well, thank you for that," Thomas said, pushing away from the box that served as a table.

"Thank you," Matthew replied. "I miss real tea out here, it's very much a treat when I get it."

Thomas saluted, and Matthew saluted him back, and they parted.

Matthew went to lean against a trench wall again, glancing up at the sky. The stars were clear, only obscured by the light of lanterns. It was something he hadn't really seen before, living in a city. There was little beauty in this desolate wasteland, but there were some things worth appreciating.

A shot rang out, making Matthew jump out of his reverie. Without thinking, he ran toward the sound, and saw Thomas lying on the ground with blood pouring out of his hand. A lighter was right next to him.

He had gone and hurt himself, just as Matthew had warned him not to. Matthew glanced around, breathing a sigh of relief that he was the first one there.

He didn't approve of what Thomas did. But a part of him understood. And he couldn't let a man die for having feelings. It wasn't right that an army would kill its own men. So he made a split second decision that he would save a life.

Matthew pulled a cigarette out of his pocket; he rarely smoked but occasionally found it relaxing, especially post battle. He placed it right next to Thomas's other hand. People were beginning to rush toward him now.

"What happened?" asked one of the privates.

Matthew bent down and picked the cigarette up. His eyes drifted toward the lighter on the other side. "I think he was trying to light a cigarette. Bloody stupid man probably held his hands up too high," he answered. "Get a medic, someone, so we can bind up his hand."

The rest of the small crowd that had gathered left, and Matthew was left to stand by Thomas.

Thomas was gradually growing weaker, probably due to pain and blood loss, but Matthew could read his lips as he said two works.

"Thank you."

* * *

Mary met Sybil on the stairs. She could see the weariness in the steps of her sister. "Sybil? Are you alright?" she asked, as they went up together.

"Yes, of course," Sybil replied, her words coming out in a rush. "Why wouldn't I be fine?"

Mary squinted her eyes as they reached the top. "You look absolutely exhausted. Are you sure that you're alright?"

"Nursing is tiring."

"I believe it, but there's something else, isn't there."

Sybil brushed past Mary with a heavy sigh. "Look, there's absolutely nothing wrong. I'm just tired from running around the hospital all day. It's a good kind of tired though. And now I just want to sleep."

"I don't believe you," Mary said sternly, grabbing Sybil's wrist. "Come on, come into my room."

Sybil groaned as she followed Mary into her bedroom. "Why are you so worried about this?"

"I know something is bothering you," Mary said, "And I want to know what so that we can make it stop. I just want you to be happy, darling."

"Nursing is harder than I expected," Sybil admitted, sinking down into Mary's armchair. "And it's not really the medical part that's so hard. It's really the other people."

"The soldiers?"

"No, most of them are fine. Or I guess as fine as it's possible for them to be. But it's the other nurses I have trouble with."

Mary frowned. "Why? Shouldn't they respect you? You've done your training, just the same as them."

"Maybe they should respect me," Sybil muttered, "but they don't. There's one nurse, Nurse Adler, who persists in calling me Lady Sybil, although I've asked to be called Nurse Crawley because of course I don't want to breed discord. She's worked at the hospital since I was a little girl, and I don't think se really realizes that I'm actually qualified to work and help there. She's very snobbish about it."

"Well, to be fair, out of respect, she should call you Lady Sybil," Mary pointed out.

"I don't want that! I don't want to be treated differently because I was born into a rich family."

Mary reached for her sister's hand. "Is she treating you badly?"

"Not badly, per say, but she doesn't seem to trust me. And she's very condescending. I'm sure it's just because she still views me as a little girl, but..."

A sigh fell from Mary's lips. "You are too sweet and trusting, Sybil. I would guess that she doesn't like the aristocracy very much, and she especially doesn't like aristocratic girls infringing on her job, trying to make themselves look good."

"But I'm not doing it to make myself look good! I'm doing it to help the men, because I really care about them!"

"You know that, and I know that, but this nurse doesn't know that."

Sybil leaned back in the deep chair. "I've tried to show her. It isn't just her, although she's the worst of them. Nobody thinks that I'm qualified, and they favor the other new nurses over me, although we've had the exact same amount of experience. And it's probably selfish of me to complain about this when my goal is really to help injured, dying men, but no one is going to let me help if they think I'm just in it for myself."

"Show them how sweet and selfless you are, then," Mary advised.

"How, though? I got to the hospital an hour early yesterday and Nurse Adler got mad at me. She said I was 'trying to look selfless' when in fact I just couldn't sleep."

"Just keep working as you are, then, and something will break through, I know it will. Because you're an incredible girl, darling, and an incredible nurse, and anyone who doesn't see that is looking through a veil of snobbery."

Sybil smiled. "And this is coming from one of the biggest snobs out there," she teased.

Mary ave her sister an indignant look, but her tone of voice belied her amusement. "Yes, I suppose I have good grounds on which to make that judgment."

"Sometimes I hate the privilege though. Maybe it's selfish when others have so little, but I would gladly trade with them."

"The grass is always greener on the other side," Mary warned.

Sybil ignored her. "I want to do things for myself, without a stupid title that I have for no reason beyond genetics. But there are very few ways to rid myself of that stigma."

Mary's eyes widened. "Sybil... What are you thinking?"

"If I tell you a secret, do you promise not to tell a soul?"

"I suppose, yes... You're making me very concerned."

Sybil's face contorted with intensity. "No, you really have to mean it. You can't tell anyone. Not Mama, not Papa, not Anna, not Matthew... Especially not Matthew. So do you promise that you won't tell a soul."

"I promise!" Mary pronounced."What is it, though?"

"Tom... Tom Branson, he proposed to me."

Complete silence.

Mary couldn't think of anything to respond with. Finally she came up with, "Tom Branson? The chauffeur?"

"How many other Tom Bransons do we know?"

"No need to be impertinent, darling, I'm just trying to understand. The chauffeur asked you to marry him." She didn't speak for a few moments. "When was this?"

"When he dropped me off at the college in York," Sybil admitted quietly.

Mary narrowed her eyes. "And what exactly did you tell him?"

"I told him that I'm engaged, of course. He told me that I should break it off with Matthew, especially since it wasn't a marriage by choice, but I couldn't break Matthew's heart. Not now. Especially not now, when any heartbreak might send him into recklessness."

She couldn't tell Sybil. Although it might be a relief. But if she told Sybil, about how she and Matthew had kissed on that warm spring day, Sybil would take it as permission to marry the chauffeur. The chauffeur, of all people! No, she definitely couldn't tell Sybil. But a part of her heart filled with relief. Was there hope for her and Matthew after all?"

She focused herself back on the situation at hand. "Do you love him? Do you love the chauffeur, Sybil?"

"I don't know!" Sybil threw her hands in the air. "I think so..."

* * *

Matthew buttoned up his suit jacket as Captain Roth came storming in. "Apparently, you got involved with another regiment. You were the first one of the scene at the injury of one of their medical men?"

He looked up at the tall captain, who was stooping just to fit in the dugout, with wide eyes. "Yes, I was."

"Did you know the man prior to that night?"

"Yes, he was a footman at the estate which I am set to inherit. We had tea shortly before the injury occurred. He said he was going out for a smoke, and then I heard gunshots. I went out, and the cigarette and lighter were by his hands. I believe that he was trying to light his cigarette, but his hands were up a little bit too high and the Germans saw the flame."

Roth narrowed his eyes. "It looked an awful lot like a blighty."

"Unfortunately, injuries like that often do. I hope they don't pester Corporal Barrow about it too much, because he definitely already regrets his stupid mistake."

"I hope you aren't defending the poor bastard."

Matthew held his chin up high. "I'm telling you what happened, and telling you what I hope won't happen. Nothing more, nothing less."

"You're a curious man, Crawley." Roth took a glance at his pocket watch. "Five minutes."

Over the top. Three words every man dreaded. And for Matthew's regiment, they would come true in five minutes.

He saluted as Captain Roth left. He certainly didn't condone Thomas's actions, but a part of him understood as well. No one could suffer through this hell without losing a part of themselves. And he didn't want Barrow to be killed for having human feelings.

Matthew stepped out of the dugout, stooping so that his head would not poke out above the trench. He leaned against the wall, next to a ladder, and listened as Captain Roth made a speech. If he was honest, he wasn't really listening. His heart was beating too loudly in his ears to hear anything except the shrill tone of a whistles as it blew.

All the soldiers scrambled up the ladders and ran over the muddy ground, shooting, trying to push the Germans back.

Everything was a blur. Matthew couldn't remember what he was doing or why he was doing it; al he knew was that he had to stay alive. And survival was his only thought. As they ran as quickly as they could through the all consuming mud, there was nothing else to be thought of.

The Germans bit back, and before Matthew knew it, they were running back to the trenches. He followed with the crowd, but just before he was about to slide back into the trenches on his side, he noticed a figure, maybe fifty or so meters away, lying in the mud, groaning in pain. It was Captain Roth.

Without thinking, he ran over toward Captain Roth, not caring of the consequences. He didn't hear the cries of "Crawley, what the hell are you doing?". The sound of survival had not been drowned out. But survival wasn't just for him. Survival was for all of them, and all of them deserved life. And although Matthew didn't particularly like Captain Roth, he still deserved to live. All of them did. Matthew would be damned if he didn't try his hardest to make sure that everyone had that chance.

When he reached Roth, he slung the man over his shoulder and struggled back to the trench. There were several close calls-a bullet very nearly took off his ear at one point-but he made it back to the trench with Roth still alive. He handed Roth's beaten body down to the men, and slipped in after him.

"What was that?" asked one of the privates.

"I don't know," Matthew replied. "But I do know that I couldn't let him die."

"Well, it was incredibly stupid," the sergeant said. "But it was incredibly brave."

* * *

 _Thanks to all who have read and reviewed! Seriously, reviews are amazing and so encouraging, so it would be awesome if you took a minute or two to tell me your thoughts? Thank you!_


	11. Chapter 11

Paris was a sigh of relief, a sanctuary from the war upon them, just miles away. Matthew sat in a small cafe with a croissant and a cup of tea. He had a single day of leave, and General Strutt had wanted to meet with him, although he didn't know why.

He hoped it wasn't about the Barrow case. It had been dropped when Roth was injured, and Matthew didn't want it resurrected. Thomas may not have done what was right, but he couldn't be condemned for feeling.

What else would it be, though? Why would a high ranking general want to meet with a Lieutenant who had made no significant contributions to the war? It didn't make much sense. It had to be about Barrow.

And if they'd found out that he had lied... In the moment, lying had seemed the right thing to do. But what if it cost him? Would it still be worth it then?

Matthew took a sip of the tea, trying to calm himself, when the little bell on the door rang, and a figure robed in an army uniform entered the cafe. Herbert Strutt was not quite so intimidating in a small cafe as he was on the battlefield, which was at least a little bit of a relief. Matthew lifted his head up and gestured Strutt toward the table.

"Lieutenant Crawley?"

Matthew stood up and saluted. "Sir."

Strutt gave permission for him to release and sit down again, and they sat at the table. Matthew's fingers were pressing together, and he was trying not to shake.

"How are you today, Crawley?"

"Glad to be away from it all, sir," Matthew answered honestly. "But I'll be ready to go back tomorrow."

Strutt nodded. "Good man. We need more men like you out there."

"Sir?"

"We've all heard of your bravery. When you went out to save Captain Roth? Your men were very impressed, at least five of them reported what you did," Strutt said, waving off the waiter who walked toward them.

"I only did what I thought was right," Matthew replied humbly.

"If it had not been for you, Roth would have died out there. The men have all said it looked rather stupid, running back into the heat of battle, but it was incredibly courageous."

Matthew glanced down at his feet. He didn't really remember what he had been thinking as he ran out to drag Roth back. It had been adrenaline, pure adrenaline, that led him to the decision. Honestly, his thoughts had not been ones of bravery at all. He had just gone with his gut and done what he needed to do. "I just hope Roth's alright," he said, unsure what else to say. He wasn't going to admit that his thought process, or lack thereof, was not as brave as it seemed, especially not to the general.

"Roth will live. I doubt he will return to active duty, but he will live without much impediment. He's very lucky, thanks to you. But that leaves your regiment lacking a Captain."

Matthew nodded. "I don't see how I can help with that."

"You're very humble, you know. I like that about you," Strutt said, with a laugh. "We're going to promote you."

"What? Why?" Matthew never thought he would be soldier material, much less qualified to be a leader. Why would they want him of all people?

"Your bravery in saving Captain Roth has proved to your superiors that you are a brave man, an excellent soldier, and dedicated to the cause. We could not think of anyone better to take Roth's position."

Matthew could barely process the information. "So you're promoting me to Captain?"

"Yes," Strutt replied. "Your humility is a model to us all. There will be official documents and all that, but now you are Captain Crawley."

* * *

Sybil walked through the halls of the hospital, her shift over. She was exhausted again, and relieved that it was over, but she felt good. She felt useful for once, and she was doing something right. And Nurse Adler had not been assigned to her shift, so she hadn't been forced to deal with snobbery.

As she reached the end of the hallway, she saw a person in the waiting room at the front of the hospital. Dark hair and pale skin; she recognized him, though it took a few seconds to register in her brain. "Thomas?" she whispered.

He turned his head toward her. "It's actually Corporal Barrow now," he replied. "Lady Sybil, nursing now?"

"Yes, I am," Sybil said proudly. "Is there any issue with that?"

"Not at all. As a medical man myself, I appreciate your work," he said.

Sybil looked him over. "Weren't you on the front?" She scanned over his entire body, her eyes falling onto his gloved hand. "What happened to you?"

"Got injured. Not enough to cripple me completely, but enough that I'm not going back to that hell again," Thomas replied flippantly. "But I have the training, so they want me to work back here, and I managed to get transferred back to Downton, so here I am, waiting to meet with Clarkson."

"Hmm. I must say I'm glad you're back. I'm sorry you got injured, though," Sybil said.

"It was your fiancee who found me," Thomas replied. "He got everyone together to help me. He saved me, really. I could have bled out but he didn't allow that to happen."

Sybil's eyes opened wide. "You were with Matthew? How is he?"

"Alright, I think. He seems to be holding up well."

"According to Mary, he was awful when he was here last. He couldn't handle anything because of the war."

Thomas shook his head. "I can believe it. The trenches are a completely different world. That's the kind of place where you just can't feel anything. You'll go mad if you do. Like I almost did."

"It's good you're working here, I think," Sybil said. "You'll understand the men who come back from there, as I can't even begin to."

"Yes, good," Thomas repeated.

"And you can intimidate all the other nurses who think I'm useless just because I have a title?" Sybil said, a request behind her words.

Thomas smiled. "Obviously, they've never gotten to know how much you care."

"You've never cared very much... If that's not impertinent to say."

"Since you're a lady, no, it wouldn't be considered impertinent. But no, I'll admit I've been apathetic toward others, and I can't say they're my priority even now, but war will change a man. It might be for the better or it might be for worse, but no man can go to war and come back the same."

Sybil sighed. "And we'll see that pan out more and more. Well, it was nice to see you, Corporal Barrow. I've got to get home, or else my parents will worry, and we certainly don't want that."

"You do that, Lady Sybil," Thomas replied.

Sybil paused. "Actually, here, it's Nurse Crawley. Don't let some of the other nurses throw you off."

"Very well, Nurse Crawley."

* * *

Sybil walked in the next morning with a sense of usual determination. She wanted to prove that she was more than just an attention seeking earl's daughter, and she wanted to help the men that were defending her. But today she was even more determined, because she knew she had an ally in Thomas Barrow.

She was directed toward a particular row of beds. It was the smallest amount of soldiers; three beds were empty, and the other six had soldiers with fairly minor injuries. Of course, they were bad enough to be sent home, but not bad enough for anything else. They didn't trust Sybil with anything bigger, as usual. Maybe she wasn't qualified to tend to some of the soldiers, but how was she ever going to learn if she never got the chance? She sighed and began to glance at the charts on the ends of the beds.

After a while of her work, which was fairly peaceful that morning, she noticed that Thomas had come into the ward. He stood in the corner, looking unsure of what to do. Come to think of it, Sybil wasn't sure what he was supposed to be doing. She waited a few minutes, and when he didn't have anything else at all to do, she waved him over to her row of beds.

"Do you have any work to do?" she asked.

"Clarkson hasn't exactly given me any tasks yet. Apparently I'm helping with quite a few things, but I don't know what all of those few things are."

Sybil gestured toward a bed at the end of the row. A young man with bandages around his eyes was reclining. "If you're not doing anything, could you keep Lieutenant Courtenay company? He's terribly lonely and none of his family has come to visit him."

Thomas nodded. "Of course. Fetch me if you find out that Clarkson wants me for some reason, please."

"Thank you," Sybil said genuinely. "I've several other things that I must attend to."

She rushed around for close to an hour, making food trays for the soldiers as they gradually woke up and giving them all the pain medication they needed. One man kept insisting that he needed more pain medication than she was allowed to give. She spent a good ten minutes trying to gently console him that more pain medication was only going to make him sicker, as he got angrier and angrier. Finally, when she was unable to reason any more, she called Doctor Clarkson over to convince the man that more pain medication would not be helpful.

With that situation solved, she went on with the rest of her work, finally checking to see how Lieutenant Courtenay was doing. To her surprise, Thomas was still talking with him, and they appeared to be having a deep, emotional conversation. That was something she had never expected of Thomas Barrow of all people.

She decided to leave it be. After all, Lieutenant Courtenay could use the company.

* * *

He was Captain Crawley when he next appeared in the trenches; he was shaking at the thought of this new role that he really didn't deserve, but he would try to be worthy of it. He had to be worthy of it. He had no choice.

"So you're replacing Captain Roth?" asked Corporal Lewis, a man of about Matthew's age. They had become rather good friends, being in the same regiment for a year. Lewis had a young wife that he had married only weeks before war broke out, and he spoke of her constantly. Matthew was typically happy to hear him speak of his wife; it took him away from the trenches and the man was so in love. On the other hand, sometimes it hurt because Matthew knew he would never experience that kind of love.

Matthew nodded to Lewis's question. "They thought I was qualified, I suppose. I don't know if it's their best decision, but I won't argue."

"You certainly deserve it," Lewis said strongly.

"You were one of the ones that recommended me, weren't you?"

"Of course I was. How could anyone not, seeing how you saved Roth with no care for yourself? They want men like that to lead, to inspire others to have the same sort of bravery. You're one of those."

Matthew shook his head and lowered himself against the trench wall. "I wouldn't say that. I wasn't even thinking in the moment, I wasn't trying to be brave."

"And that's another part of it," Lewis said, following Matthew's example and sitting down in the mud of the trench. "You're incredibly humble. You're exactly what they want in an officer, and I was more than happy to recommend you."

"How's your wife, Lewis?" Matthew asked, wishing to divert the conversation, feeling uncomfortable with the underserved praise.

Lewis pulled out a letter. "She wrote me this a few days ago. She's moved back in with her parents, my soldier's salary couldn't pay for our flat. But I'm glad, I don't want her to be alone. I miss her so much..." He wiped away a stray tear, trying to be inconspicuous. "I can't believe I never asked this, sir, but are you engaged?"

Matthew bit his lip. "That's a loaded question."

"It's yes or no. I don't see any other answer."

"Well then, yes, technically. I am engaged. Her name is Sybil, she's the daughter of an earl, and I'm the distant heir to her father's estate. She's very sweet and intelligent, and she's a nurse now."

"I don't see how that's complicated," Lewis said."

Matthew laughed, almost hysterically. Anything now held a dark sort of humor. "We don't exactly have a choice in it, Sybil and I. It's an arranged marriage, I guess you could say. And we like each other enough, we're just not passionately in love or anything like that. And..."

"And what?"

"Well... I'm in love with her sister."

Lewis sat back for a minute, then gave Matthew a sideways glance. "Damn."

"Exactly," Matthew replied.

"But if you're marrying Sybil because you're the heir, then couldn't you marry her sister? Isn't that how it works?"

Matthew shook his head. "If only it was that simple. Technically, yes, I should be able to, and really, her sister is the one I should be marrying. But she is unable to have children, and as my future wife's sole job would to be to provide an heir to keep the estate in the family, it doesn't work out that way."

"What a mess."

"It doesn't help that I'm an emotional wreck half of the time, and I can't seem to control myself. Last time I was on leave, I kissed her. I kissed my fiancé's sister. And Sybil doesn't know at all. Someday I have to tell her."

Lewis leaned forward. "Does she love you?"

"She says she doesn't- I mean, she does love me in her own way, just like I love her as well, but if anything we're more good friends- and I'm sure she says that she doesn't just to make me feel alright for not being madly in love with her. And her sister and I agreed that we weren't going to hurt her."

"But you're still going to marry her?"

Matthew nodded. "I have to. It's not like we had a choice in the first place. And I don't want to go into my marriage with hurt and betrayal behind it."

"I admire your ideals."

"I just wish I was strong enough to stand against it. But I don't want to hurt her, and I don't want to hurt my family. And it seems like it's always a choice between the people I love and myself."

Lewis sighed. "And knowing you, you're always going to choose the people you love."

* * *

The garden at the hospital was small, but pleasant enough. Sybil stood against the wall, watching as Thomas led out Lieutenant Courtenay, who held a white cane in one hand. She actually saw the ghost of a smile on his face, something that had been rare since the young man had come to the hospital.

"Are we ready to practice, Lieutenant Courtenay?" Sybil asked, stepping forward. "I'm Nurse Crawley. I'm afraid this is the first experience I've had training soldiers, so we're both in for new territory today."

"I suppose I'm ready, then, Nurse Crawley," Lieutenant Courtenay said, although there was hesitance in his words.

Sybil gave him a grin, before remembering that he couldn't see it. She patted his wrist. "Alright. Corporal Barrow here is setting out a few chairs. Those will be your obstacles. The key is to sweep widely with your cane. If the cane hits an obstacle, you'll know it's there. Are you ready to start?"

"I suppose I have to start somewhere."

Thomas took Lieutenant Courtenay's arm and led him into the middle of the chairs. "Alright. Here you go."

It took a few hours of stumbling around for Lieutenant Courtenay to become even a little bit comfortable with the exercise. But it was rewarding; for Sybil, for Thomas, and especially Lieutenant Courtenay, who was beginning to envision a life that he thought he might never have again.

Clarkson came outside on a sunny afternoon, as Sybil and Thomas were helping Lieutenant Courtenay practice again. The three had become close through a mutual goal, and Sybil looked forward to their daily sessions.

"Lieutenant Courtenay," Clarkson called, as he walked quickly toward them. "Good news! You're due to be released tomorrow and sent to Farley Hall to convalesce."

Sybil, Thomas, and Lieutenant Courtenay were all completely silent.

Finally, Lieutenant Courtenay spoke. "I'm perfectly alright convalescing here. In fact, these two have helped me a lot. If you'll allow them to continue helping me..."

"I'm afraid I cannot allow that. As helpful as I'm sure Nurse Crawley and Corporal Barrow are being, there are staff that specialize in helping recovering soldiers over in Farley Hall. There's no convalescent home nearer. And I cannot allow you to take a bed that would be used for another soldier who is in need of it far more."

Sybil couldn't disagree with Doctor Clarkson's logic, but her heart wanted to say something different. She kept her mouth shut though.

Until Clarkson turned around and Lieutenant Courtenay burst out into loud sobs and threw his cane down on the ground. Sybil bit her lip and began to walk quickly after Clarkson. Lieutenant Courtenay was not just throwing a childish temper tantrum.

"Doctor Clarkson, can't you see?" she cried, taking long strides to catch up with the doctor. "He's not only hurt physically, but he's not mentally stable either! He's on the ground, sobbing about how he should die instead."

"And the staff at Farley Hall are much better equipped to deal with that than we are. Lady Sybil, I know you feel strongly, but I've been in this business for far longer, and in any case, I can not allow good men to freeze because one junior officer is crying!"

Sybil stepped toward him. "First of all, it's Nurse Crawley. And I've talked with this man for several hours each day. He is not well, and moving him won't help that."

"Lady Sybil... Nurse Crawley, I have made my decision. He's leaving tomorrow." Doctor Clarkson opened his office door and shut it behind him with a definitive slam.

Sybil cast her eyes to the ground and wandered back out into the garden to bring Lieutenant Courtenay back inside.

Her shift was long that day, and it was nearly midnight when she finished and walked into the ward one last time.

She walked by Lieutenant Courtenay's bed.

He was deathly pale. There was blood dripping from his wrists. And there was a razor in his hand.

* * *

"It's so terrible, to think a man could get through a war and still not make it out in the end," Cora said, when Sybil recounted the story of Lieutenant Courtenay over dinner.

Mary took a bite of her fish, looking sad, but also thoughtful as she chewed. "Was it because he had to leave the hospital? Because Farley Hall was so different and far away?"

"I think that might have been part of it. He was very emotionally unstable, and he may have had depression of some sort. All of that could have played in, but the move was the impetus. But nothing was closer, so they had to send him there."

Robert shook his head. "It's awful. Is there anything we could do?"

Sybil knew her father was talking about finances. But an idea had struck her during her shift the previous day. Her parents would hate it, she knew. But she had to put it out there. If her parents didn't allow it, it could be known that she tried.

"There is a way, actually," Sybil said, her voice becoming low and sly. "But it would involve a lot of work and sacrifice. We know there's nothing close to Downton Hospital for officers to convalesce at. And we could change that."

Mary caught on first. Sybil expected an icy glare, but Mary simply looked surprised, not mad.

"What exactly do you mean?" Cora asked.

"I mean that this house would be a perfect place to hold a convalescent home," Sybil rushed.

To no one's surprise, Robert's first response was an angry, "No!"

"I think that's a wonderful idea, Sybil. Bravo!" Isobel said, in contrast.

It was Cora, however, who provided the most reason. "Sybil, I do think that's an excellent idea. However, are we up for it? Is the staff up for it? There are so many things to consider that I don't know if it's worth it."

"Well I do," Mary said bluntly, to everyone's surprise. All pairs of eyes around the table focused on her. "Why do you all act so surprised? We don't want any more soldiers taking their own lives after they've been through hell. I think we could make it work."

With Mary's endorsement, Robert's position softened. If his selfish daughter could give up her beloved home for injured soldiers, perhaps there was something to the idea. "I suppose it's not a bad thought. We'd have to give it a lot of consideration."

The discussion went on, but by the end of dinner, Sybil was fairly confident that her family had a plan, and that they would be able to do their part for the war.

As they left the dining room, Mary grabbed Sybil's arm. "Darling, that was a brilliant idea."

"I'm surprised you liked it so much."

"Would we want anything like what happened to Lieutenant Courtenay to happen to our men fighting?"

Sybil cocked her head to the side. "Do you mean Matthew?"

"Matthew, yes, and all the other men fighting that we know," Mary said, quick to brush off the suspicion. "All of them deserve a chance."

* * *

An odd mix of elation and sadness washed over Sybil as she tiptoed down the back stairs toward the garage. She was so glad her family was deciding to open the convalescent home, but on the other hand, she couldn't get the image of Lieutenant Courtenay's blank white skin with red stripes of blood out of her head.

She was skipping and blinking back tears.

Tom looked up as he heard the click of her heels on the pavement. "Sybil?"

"Hello," she said. She strolled over and sat down on the bench in the garage. "You'll probably hear this soon, but we're going to operate Downton as a convalescent home!"

Tom nodded. It wasn't his realm; he was completely against the war, but anything that made Sybil so happy was certainly a reason to rejoice. "I bet a lot of it was thanks to you."

Sybil blushed. "Well...yes." It was nice to have someone appreciate her. It was nice to have someone to share this with. It was nice to have him.

"I had no doubt. What inspired this sudden idea?" he asked.

Suddenly, the tears were poking at her eyes again.

She saw men die every day. Why did this one hurt her so much?

"A soldier... he killed himself because he was being sent far away to convalesce. Barrow and I had gotten quite close to him," she choked out.

Tom stepped closer to her and without any more prompting, Sybil fell into his arms.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but pulled her tighter.

Sybil felt comforted by his strength and warmth. It was nice to be in his arms.

It was nice to have him.

Would it be nice to love him?

* * *

 _So, if my plan for the story doesn't end up changing, we're right at about the halfway point. There's still some twists to come! Thanks for reading! Reviews encourage me to write more and make me very happy, so please review!_


	12. Chapter 12

She had to admit, it was nice to work from her own home. When the convalescent home had opened a few months before, Sybil gradually began to move her shifts from the hospital to the convalescent work was not quite so intensive, although it required a lot more social energy, which was often draining. But she really did enjoy it.

The convalescent home, as it turned out, was very much appreciated by Doctor Clarkson, who admitted that he was tempted to give them the idea himself. The whole system was a well oiled machine, run by Cora, Isobel, and Thomas, of all people.

Thomas had managed to make himself indispensible to Doctor Clarkson, who suggested he take charge of management of the convalescent home. While the rest of the family was wary, Sybil was delighted by this notion. She and Thomas had developed a close friendship through their work in the hospital.

Her shift was over, and with a crisp letter in her pocket, she carefully wandered the halls down to the garage, making sure that none of the servants or other nurses saw her as she made her way through the house.

Tom was in the garage, reading a newspaper, when she entered. He put it down immediately when he heard her heels clicking on the pavement. "I haven't seen you much lately," he commented.

"I've just been so busy," Sybil said by way of explanation. "And since I'm not taking the car to go to work anymore, that severely cuts down on the amount of excuses I have to come down here."

"Do you need an excuse?"

Sybil leaned against the post of the garage. "If I need to explain it to my parents, then yes, I do. And since Mary knows, of course, I have to be even more careful. I love Mary, but she's rather a snob. I can't say I trust her not to tell."

"How is the convalescent home working out? I don't see much of them, as none of them are looking to take the car."

"It's going fairly well. Clarkson acts like he's indebted to us forever, which, to be fair, he probably is. Mama and Isobel are fighting about how it should be run, and Thomas is trying to mediate all of it. I actually admire him, it's not an easy job, especially not with Mama and Isobel each vying for control."

Tom took a few steps toward her. "And how are you?"

"Getting through life. I'm scared every day that someone that I know is going to die. Every letter is terrifying."

"Any good letters lately?"

Sybil smiled and reached into her pocket. "Actually, I just got a letter from Matthew. He's coming home on leave for a week, and he'll be back in two days."

Tom's face fell, as it always did when Sybil mentioned Matthew.

"I know you don't like him," Sybil consoled, "but he is my fiancee."

"You're rather cruel, always coming down here to lead me on and then flaunting your fiancee in my face," Tom said.

"Oh stop sounding so bitter."

"I'm not bitter, I just love you, and it's hard for me to see someone else have that. Even though they might deserve it more."

Sybil reached for his hand. "If everything wasn't so complicated, I would marry you. Maybe not instantly, but I would definitely marry you. But as it stands... I've decided that I love you, Tom."

"But there are other things that get in the way," Tom moaned.

"Yes. Maybe, once the war is over, I'll talk to Matthew about all of this. I would hate to hurt him, and I don't know how my family would react. They might disown me, for all I know. Nobody's done anything this drastic."

Tom took her proffered hand in his. It was much rougher than he expected it to be, but it felt absolutely divine. "Is this really so drastic? Love?"

"In the aristocracy, love is the most drastic thing."

A silence lingered for a while, only interrupted by the sound of heels clicking on the pavement. Sybil whirled around to see her sister behind her. "Mary!" she exclaimed, trying to look innocent.

"I knew what he said to you," Mary said coldly, "But I didn't know that you were considering accepting."

"Who said I was?" Sybil asked.

Mary rolled her eyes. "Your very presence here signifies that you have not totally ignored his impassioned plea."

"And why should she?" Tom shouted

"I hate to break it to you, Branson, but Sybil's engaged. And if she's leading you on, that's something you should know."

Tom looked down at his feet. "I know. I've known for a very long time, and it hurts to know that because of her family's wishes, there is no chance of us being together."

"Oh, there's no need to become so dramatic," Mary said, taking a threatening step toward him. "I promised Sybil I would tell no one, and I will keep my promise, but do not think that I approve of your affections for Sybil, especially not that you openly share them with her."

"Do I not have a right to love?"

Mary shook her head. "You have a right, of course, as all humans do. But my father also has a right to fire you."

* * *

She turned on her heel and let the sound of her feet on the pavement click away in the distance.

Sybil got changed for dinner as quickly as she could, before bursting into Mary's room. Seeing that Mary was nearly dressed, she said, "Anna, could you please leave us? I need to talk to Mary alone."

Anna nodded, taking Mary's day dress in her arms and going on her way.

"What do you want?" Mary asked, her tone bored as she dabbed her lavender perfume on her skin.

"What was that, you coming down to Tom and threatening him? He knew that you knew about us, he was already living in fear, and suddenly you have to come down and threaten to turn his life upside down?"

Mary stood up from the vanity. "Darling, I'm just trying to do what's right for you."

"What's right for me, or just what you think is right for me?" Sybil questioned angrily. "I have rights, you know! I have the right to love whoever I choose."

"You're engaged, Sybil!"

Sybil stepped backward. "Not to a man I love. You of all people should know how that feels."

"You should be grateful. Grateful that you're able to marry a man who will actually care about you and your wellbeing, even if he isn't passionately in love you you. Grateful that you have prospects, and a chance to have the inheritance that would have been mine, were I male." Mary's voice was low and threatening.

"Are you jealous?"

"Maybe I am. Maybe because you have a future, a bright one Sybil, and you could be a brilliant woman in society and make so much change as a countess, and yet you want to throw it all away by running off with the chauffeur."

Sybil sat down on the edge of Mary's bed. "But can't I do all that I have potential for as the wife of a poor man? Why should status determine influence? I'm going to do all the good that I can in the world either way."

"Position does determine influence, though, Sybil. You could do a world of good, by leading charity movements, helping wounded soldiers long after the war is over, teaching young girls how to become nurses. Or you could marry Branson and end up as a nurse in a Dublin slum, living on a paltry salary, if they'll even take a nurse with a month of training."

"Why do you always have to be so cynical?"

"I'm being realistic, darling." Mary's eyes were cold. "I don't know Branson all that well, but as far as I know, he is a good man. But Sybil, you're from completely different worlds. Even if you did get past the social barriers, how would you live together? You two are from opposite poles, you'll not understand the culture that the other grew up in, and as a result, you'll grow resentful of each other. You'll value different things. You'll try and raise children according to two different lifestyles."

Sybil swung her legs off of the bed. "You sound like you speak from experience."

"I've thought about this situation often. And Sybil, really, what about Matthew?"

"I don't love him, plain and simple. I don't want to hurt him, but I don't really want to marry him either. And look around, the world is changing! Don't you believe that maybe everything can change? Including the concept of arranged marriages?"

Mary thought of that day on the grounds. The feeling of his lips quickly pressed against hers. "Sometimes I wish."

"Then can't you understand?"

If Sybil married Branson, then Matthew would no longer be engaged. But of course, it was stupid to think that he would care to come to her. The barren daughter dependent on her father, and later, on him? Why would Matthew Crawley want anything to do with her?

Sybil's best shot was with Matthew. All she wanted was the best for those she loved. And they would be happy together. Maybe not completely fulfilled, but happy enough. They cared about each other. She could see that clearly enough with their determination not to hurt each other with disloyalty.

Disloyalty. Matthew had not wanted to tell Sybil of his disloyalty to her. And Sybil didn't want to tell Matthew of her love for Tom. And Mary was caught in the middle, knowing both of their secrets but not wanting to hurt either of them.

"I think I understand better than you think."

Sybil sighed. "Then at least let me talk to Tom."

"Not while Matthew's here. I definitely will have to talk to Matthew before you tell him, if you ever do."

"I'm not telling him until after the war. I don't want him to do anything reckless," Sybil said, determination in her voice.

Mary nodded. "I think that's wise. But Sybil?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't do anything stupid. I love you too much, and I don't want to see you hurt. You know I just want the best for you, right?"

Sybil stood up and began to leave the room. "I know you do. The issue is that you don't always know what's best. You just think you do."

* * *

The grand hall was much louder than Matthew was used to, and in a way, it was almost a comfort. The din of soldier chatter was a nice away from the dreadful silence that seemed to haunt him with its oddness. He was rather impressed that the transformation of the house into something brilliant and useful.

His mother was busy arranging things, clipboard in hand. A shipment of new soldiers had just come in, and she was trying to get them all sorted. He was sorry to interrupt, but he had to say hello.

He tapped her on the shoulder.

Without looking, she began to say, "I'm sorry, I'm very busy," but she turned around to see her son standing there, in uniform, alive and well. "Matthew!" she cried, throwing her arms around him and hugging her tight. "I'm so glad you're here."

"I am, too. It's brilliant, to see this. Really. I think it's wonderful that you all pulled together to do this for the men."

She stepped back and looked him over. "You're on leave? You didn'r write."

"Just for a few days. I wanted it to be a surprise. How have things been going here?"

Isobel beamed at him in pride, but the smile dropped from her face as she began to speak. "Well, it's been rather a struggle. Cousin Cora and I don't exactly agree on the way it should be run."

"Is it terrible of me to say that I'm honestly not surprised?"

"You're certainly more candid that you used to be," Isobel said, laughing. "I do need to attend to these things, you should go find Sybil. I think she's on a shift right now but she can take a couple of minutes to say hello to her fiancee."

Matthew nodded, walking down the hall into the drawing room, which had been converted into a dormitory. There was Mary, of all people, serving drinks to wounded soldiers, carrying large trays, and even smiling as she did it.

He took large strides to catch up with her. "I hadn't cast you as Florence Nightingale," he teased.

Mary nearly jumped at the sound of his voice, but turned around to see him. "Matthew! You're back! How nice to see you."

"It's wonderful to be here."

She put down the tray on a cart in the corner of the room and waved an arm over the room. "Well, what do you think? It's been rather a sacrifice on our parts, but I think all of us are in agreement that it's worth it. Except for Granny, of course, but she'll never come around until she actively witnesses that it saves lives. And even then, I'm not sure."

"I think it's incredible. Where is Sybil?"

"Working. What else does she do anymore?"

Matthew shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I'm in the trenches, I have absolutely no idea what is going on besides the letters I get."

"How are things over there?"

He froze, unable to answer the question. "I'm sorry, I can't really say."

Mary nodded in understand and led him out back into the great hall. "I'm afraid Sybil won't be around that much when you're here. Besides dinner, she seems to be always working. But was there anything you wanted to see while you were here? Because I could certainly show you things. If you'd like to see how the hospital is running..."

"Are you sure, Mary? Honestly, can we really be trusted with that?"

She almost laughed at his statement. "It is rather funny that we have to ask ourselves that. But I think we can. Especially with many soldiers as our witnesses."

"I suppose you're right. As a matter of fact, I would like to see how the hospital is running, if you would be willing to take me."

"It would be my pleasure."

* * *

Matthew had never seen the tiny cottage hospital so swarming, even on the outside. It was sad, really, that even this tiny place was affected by the war so much.

"Are you ready to go inside?" Mary asked, sensing his hesitance as the stepped up to the front entrance.

He shook off any fear that he might have, and nodded firmly. "Of course."

The smell of antiseptic got to him right away. He had only been in the medical tents a few times, but the strong smell always made him want to throw up. But he could keep it in. He had to. He couldn't fall apart now.

"Lady Mary!" Doctor Clarkson came up to them as they came into the largest room, where bed after bed was filled with soldier after soldier. "And Lieutenant Crawley?"

"It's Captain Crawley now, actually," Mary defended. "Captain Crawley was very interested in the work here and at the convalescent home and so I've brought him down here in order to show him. We wanted to bring Lady Sybil to be our guide instead, but she's busy working, like always."

Doctor Clarkson narrowed his eyes. "If you're trying to imply that she works too hard, that is not my fault. She schedules herself that way."

"I wasn't blaming you," Mary said. "Anyway, I think I know enough about what's going on to take her place and show him around. You don't need to bother with anything, Doctor, just keep making people well."

The doctor felt slightly patronized, but he ignored it and went back to his work.

As they walked among the beds, Matthew couldn't help but stare at the men stuck in them. Men with burns, amputations, broken bones.

And one thought kept penetrating his mind.

That could be him.

The poor young man with more bandages than skin.

That could be him.

The older gentleman with only stumps for arms.

That could be him.

The man screaming out into nowhere, believing that the Germans were after him even though he was firmly on English soil.

That could be him.

Matthew couldn't stop thinking that awful thought, and soon, he could walk no further.

Mary noticed his quiet, and she quickly grabbed his arm and led him into a quiet hallway, hoping to prevent a breakdown. "Matthew? Are you alright?"

It took him a few minutes to snap out of it. "I'm sorry, I thought I could handle it, but I just keep imagining..."

She placed a hand on his wrist to still him. "Here, you're alright. You're perfectly alright. Every man who comes here thinks that."

"Are you sure? Or am I just afraid for nothing?"

She shook her head vehemently. "You know what? Here's something that might help. Or at least I hope it will." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small stuffed dog. "He's my lucky charm. He'll keep you safe."

"Are you sure you don't need him?"

"Not nearly as much as you."

* * *

Matthew stood at the front of the house as his things were loaded into car. There wasn't much, just his mess kit along with a leather bag filled with things that he needed back in England. Branson climbed in the front of the car, and Matthew hesitantly stepped forward, before Robert tapped his shoulder.

"I have one more think to ask of you," he said ruefully.

Matthew was concerned, but he didn't let it show. "Anything. What is it?"

"Our footman, William, was just called up. Now I know you might not be able to do this, but if I could transfer him to your regiment, could you possibly take him on as your batman? So that someone is keeping an eye out for him? I know you said that your last one..."

"Yes. He died," Matthew said. He couldn't cry, not here. Davis had died from pneumonia, not an injury. And that almost made him more sad. That they could go through the fight afraid that a bullet would pick them off, and die from the betrayal of their own body. But he couldn't think about that. Instead, he slowly nodded. "I can't promise to protect William, you know." He couldn't protect Davis.

"I know," Robert said. "But it would make his father feel better."

"I can't object to that, then. As long as you can get him transferred, I'll take him on. I probably need to go, so I don't miss my train."

Robert held out his hand for Matthew to shake. "Thank you. Stay safe out there."

Matthew shook the proffered hand and climbed into the back of the car, pressing his head against the window as it drove off. He squeezed the little dog in his pocket. It was time to go back again.

On the second floor of the house, Sybil and Mary looked out of the window heavily as the car pulled down the drive. Sybil turned away from the window and began to walk down the hall. "You're still mad at me about Tom."

"I don't think it's right for you. But maybe I don't know everything

* * *

 _Thanks so much for reading! Hold on, because the next few chapters are going to get very interesting and possibly slightly crazy. Please review, it's encouraging and makes for a very happy writer!_


	13. Chapter 13

"Mary, will you please sing for the concert?" Sybil begged, as she followed her sister up the grand staircase. She tried to keep her voice down so that the convalescing soldiers would not hear the pending argument, but she couldn't let the matter rest anymore.

Mary rolled her eyes and continued quickly up the stair, taking advantage of er relative height to walk more quickly than Sybil without appearing to do so. "Why should I? It's not like I'm the best singer to do it."

With a few very quick steps, Sybil was able to stop Mary at the top of the stairs. "For one, unless you sing, the concert is all men. They're used to seeing other soldiers. Why wouldn't they want to hear a beautiful woman instead? And for another, you're the best singer in this family, as much as Edith would protest that. You're really the only one of us who can actually carry a tune. It would just be one song! And you could pick something simple, something that you definitely know. And I'll play piano for you, or we could steal Edith because she's much better than I am. As long as we could pull her away from her estate... But it isn't that hard. You'd have to practice twice at the most, and the men won't care. They just want something different."

Mary groaned and stepped past Sybil. "Alright, fine. One song. Something simple. And please, don't bring Edith here. She may be a good pianist, but I don't trust her to not mess with the song."

"Edith has been married for five years, can you two get along yet? It's better that you don't see each other, but..."

"I honestly don't think Edith and I will ever get along. But that doesn't matter. She had her husband and her estate, and I'll be the lonesome widow living off of the charity of my sister and her husband, staying at a home that should be mine but that was never truly mine in the first place. Who would have thought that Edith would have turned out much better than I did?"

Sybil patted her sister's arm, trying to be comforting. "Your life isn't over yet. You still have a chance."

"The moment the doctor told me I could never have a child again, my life ended. I was predetermined to this. It's alright though. I've grown used to it. Every rich man needs a child, and a wife's only job is to give him that child. A sterile woman cannot be that wife. It's a fact of life, Sybil."

"One day, someone will come along who will see you as so much more than that."

"Oh, how sweet you are, darling. If only I possessed your assurance. But I'm afraid I'm destined to live on your charity. I only hope I can contribute."

Sybil nodded sadly. "I wish you wouldn't think like that. But at least you can stay at Downton. It wouldn't be charity, especially when Matthew and I would need so much help running the estate. You know much more about Downton than either of us ever will. You care so much more about this place. And we'd be very grateful to have you here."

"At least then I'll be the one to take the blame when Downton is driven into the ground, and I can protect you from scorn. It's going to be bad after the war, I know. I've read reports that predict that very few estates will be left by the end of the next decade. But I'm determined that Downton won't be one of those."

"Good," Sybil said confidently. "See, this is why we want you with us. Because you know these things."

Mary sighed. "The worst part about all of this, really, is that I'm so useless."

"You're not!"

"You're so sweet, Sybil, but what am I doing to contribute to anything? I have no charity, I have no cause. I have no status that I could use to promote change. And even if I did, I don't have any motivation toward any particular cause."

Sybil touched her sister's arm. "Your cause is Downton, and the people living on the estate, and their lives and our lives, and their profit. And for so many people, that's valuable. No one could do abetter job at protecting Downton than you."

Mary tried to smile. "Let's hope so."

* * *

"How is Daisy?" Matthew asked, strolling into the dugout. William had a letter in his hands, and he was poring over the content seriously. William wrote to no one but Daisy and his father, and because he had just received a letter from his father yesterday, this one had to be from Daisy.

William looked up and grinned broadly. He was so sweet, Matthew thought. It was a miracle that the war had not hurt his sunny disposition. "She's well. She says everyone at Downton misses me, and Carson is very stressed because there are no footmen anymore."

Matthew mock gasped, bursting into laughter afterward. "Poor Carson. Having no footmen must be the most awful thing that happens during war time. It's such a shame, honestly. There's men out in the trenches, freezing and starving to death, getting picked off by rapid fire bullets or simply dropping dead from exposure, but naturally having no footmen is the greatest tragedy this world must come to grips with."

"I don't remember you being so cynical, Sir, back at Downton," William commented honestly. To others, the statement might seem rude, but Matthew understood perfectly. William knew him before the war. And he was different. He had changed, and he wasn't sure if that change was reversible. But it altered him. It altered his skills. It altered his body, mostly for the better as he was the most physically fit he had ever been. But it also altered his mind, and in that, the alterations were not to his benefit.

"I've been out here for too long," Matthew commented. "Anything else from back home?"

"Daisy made the entire upstairs dinner on a day when Mrs. Patmore was not quite feeling well. Apparently they complimented her quite a bit. I'm very proud of her."

"As you should be."

William bashfully turned his head back to the letter. "You probably don't want to hear about these things. It probably doesn't matter to you, as I'm sure your problems are far bigger than the little ones of making an upstairs dinner."

"No, please," Matthew implored, sitting down on the cot in the dugout. "I'd like to hear every single detail about normal life. Sometimes it's nice to remember that the world is still going on, even though we're stuck in this hell hole."

The private nodded, and he began to tell of what was in Daisy's letter. William was an excellent storyteller and even the most mundane tales seemed fascinating to Matthew, who was fiercely missing the normal life he had left behind.

Matthew listened to the stories, and for a moment, he felt as if he was no longer in a dark, damp, smelly trench. But when the contents of the letter were fully revealed, he looked at his pocket watch, and remembered the orders that he had been given. They were stupid orders, but he was committed to following them. "Well Mason," he said, standing up and putting on his metal helmet, "it's time to be off on a patrol."

"Why are we doing a patrol?" asked William. "It isn't as if they've attacked us for the past few days."

Matthew found it within himself to laugh. "Well, if I were a better captain, I would simply say 'Exactly!' and leave it at that. But I'm not a very good captain, I'm really not a very good army man at all. And I honestly have no idea why we are doing a patrol, but those were the orders I received and those are the orders I will follow. Feel free to question the orders; I know I am questioning them. But anyway, are you ready to go off?"

"I suppose so, Captain Crawley," William said, trying to sound confident. "I hope you know what you're doing with this, because I know that I certainly don't."

"You know, I honestly have no idea what they taught me in officer training, but all I know now is that you're suppose to go with your gut instinct. Like when I saved the previous captain of the regiment. Everyone thought I was so brave, but I was simply following my gut."

William nodded. "That sounds like good advice, actually. I'll have to remember that."

"Do. And also, while we're out there, you can think of home. We only have two days until we're on leave. I'm excited, to see Ma...Sybil. And Cousin Mary and Cousin Robert and Cousin Cora and the rest of them. So there's something to look forward to."

"I'll let my thoughts keep me alive then. Because there's nothing I want more than to go to the farm with Daisy."

* * *

When Mary entered the library, the only person inside was Sybil, who was lying on the couch by the fire with a book, much to Mary's surprise. "I thought you were working today," Mary said casually, taking the seat opposite.

"They had one too many today, and apparently I've been overworked lately, so they told me to go home. They forgot that this is my home..." Sybil rolled her eyes in obvious disdain, sitting up and setting her book on the table beside her. "And now I don't know what to do with myself."

"You could answer my questions," Mary said. Her voice was almost frosty.

Sybil nodded. "I could. I mean, not right now since I don't even know what your questions are but..."

"First of all, have you had a letter from Matthew in the past week? I know he writes you every week. He writes me half as often, but this is usually the week his letters should come, and they're three days past when they usually are."

"The postal system is awful," Sybil suggested. "I suppose they simply got lost."

Mary leaned back, resting her head against the high back of the couch and closing her eyes. "I can only hope that's the solution to our problem. But Daisy is worried too." Upon seeing Sybil's confused face, Mary added, "Daisy. The little kitchen maid? Apparently she and William are rather in love."

"I know who Daisy is!" Sybil said. "But what about her? What is so worrying that you would listen to her problems?"

"Do you think me as heartless as that?"

"No, you just surprise me sometimes, that's all. And that's good, keep doing that. But anyway, what's happening? And how does it relate to Matthew?"

Mary twisted her hands together anxiously. "Well, apparently William's letters arrive every three days. Daisy says that even before she's written him back, he sends another one. He tells her everything that he can. But his letters haven't arrived in a week."

"Again, the postal service probably. There was likely a bag full of letters from their regiment that got lost somewhere along the way," Sybil said, although her heart was beginning to beat louder in her chest.

"I don't know, Sybil. I feel like we should ask Papa to call the war office and see what's going on. They're supposed to be home on leave in a few days, and doesn't Matthew always write you right before he comes home to inform you of his plans for his leave?"

"Well, the letter must have been lost," Sybil said, although her answer was growing less and less confident every time she said it.

Mary's voice grew cold again. "Sybil, please. I'm genuinely worried. Maybe I am heartless, but even I don't want anyone out there that we know to be hurt or killed or anything. I might be stupid for thinking it, but I feel like something is wrong."

Sybil then realized that her voice wasn't simply cold for the sake of appearing cool and collected and displaying the regal image that Mary so wanted to show. Mary was truly afraid. And if she wondered why Mary was so afraid for Matthew, she brushed it off as family concern. Everybody was concerned for Matthew, why shouldn't Mary be?

Something still nagged at the back of her mind. Why was Mary, her so called heartless sister, in a deep concern that she had never seen before, especially not with Patrick? But she ignored it. If there was anything, or anyone she should worry about, it should just be Matthew. That was enough.

Robert put down the receiver of the phone, a grim expression on his face. When he turned around, he saw the two worried faces of his darling daughters. Sybil's worry he understood, but Mary? War had certainly changed his ruthless older daughter.

"Did you get in touch with the war office?" Mary asked. She appeared to be holding her breath.

He leaned against the wall by the telephone, sighing deeply. Mary and Sybil exchanged a worried glance. That sigh couldn't mean anything good. "I'm afraid I did. Your suspicions were correct. Matthew and William went on a patrol a few days ago, and they haven't been seen since."

"What!" Mary's face grew pale, her knees week, and she was so grateful to have Sybil clutching her hand for support.

"Apparently it's a rather normal thing, the men always turn up in one field hospital or another. Or..."

"Or what?" Sybil demanded, still offering Mary her support.

Robert shook his head. "If they don't show up at a field hospital, it's usually because they've been taken prisoner. Otherwise..."

"Otherwise they're found dead," Mary whispered, knowing the answer before her father said it.

There was nothing Robert could do but mutely nod.

"How long has he been missing?" Sybil asked.

"Three days."

"Then why haven't the letters arrived, if they've only been gone three days?" Mary complained petulantly.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "It much have been a postal system problem." Other times, she would have felt a joy in being right. Tonight however, it was wrong.

Mary ignored her little sister's comment, instead steeling herself and asking, "So what do we do now?"

"We wait," Robert replied sadly. "That's all we can do. Wait and see and pray."

* * *

Maybe it was insensitive to look for comfort relating to her fiancee in a man who had openly declared his love for her. But Sybil could not think of anyone but Tom to burden with her troubles, because she knew that Tom wouldn't mind.

She strode into the garage, seeing his face again buried in a newspaper. He was very handsome, with a little bit of motor grease on his cheek and his hair messy and sticking up everywhere. It was so different from the stiff collared men she was used to, and it made a pleasant change.

Of course she was worried about Matthew. She always was worried about him, because even if their story wasn't fairy tale love, she still cared deeply about him. But she would be lying if she said that an awful thought hadn't popped into her head. She had wondered what it would be like if he was gone. That way, she would never have to choose between him and Tom. Instantly she felt guilty for thinking it, but she had thought it all the same. No one, however, needed to know. Not even Tom.

"How are you tonight?" Tom asked, putting down his newspaper on his littered workbench. "You look rather serious. Is something wrong?"

"Actually, yes," Sybil admitted. "It's Matthew. He's gone missing. It isn't official, it's too soon for that, but no one knows where he and William are. They haven't been seen since three days ago. And this is almost worse than just hearing if he was dead. Because now it's this dreadful, interminable waiting that will drive us all crazy."

Tom looked at his feet. "I'm so sorry. I genuinely hope they're safe. William and I were good friends, and though I'll admit I'm rather jealous of Mr. Crawley, he's not a bad man, as you've vehemently pointed out several times."

Sybil allowed herself to laugh for the first time since hearing the news. She quickly sobered, however. "I'm just so afraid for them. And if we lose either of them, or both, this family and the staff will be devastated and we don't know how to deal with it."

"I'm glad you've decided to come to me with your problems."

She blushed. "Well, the only other person I can talk candidly with is Mary, and that's sometimes a gamble, considering how volatile her moods are and you, well, I can bet on you."

"Does this give me any hope? For something to happen soon?"

"I'm not sure if that's something I can talk about right now, but all I can say is that anything is possible."

* * *

Mary honestly wasn't sure where the photo came from. Maybe it was Sybil. It was probably Sybil. But in any case, for some reason, she had a photograph of Matthew. She took it out upon getting back to her room, as soon as she heard the news. And for a while, she just stared at it and willed him to come back home.

But maybe an hour later, when staring didn't do enough to give Mary comfort, she place the photograph on the side of the bed, knelt down beside it, and prayed. She didn't typically consider herself religious beyond Sunday morning churchgoing and the prayers at the starts of meals, but she needed any hope she could get. She started off by admitting her faults, and then earnestly prayed for his safety and his return home. There was nothing else that she could do to help, as desperate as she was to do so.

This day revealed a truth that she had never fully acknowledged in herself, especially not since Sybil's ball. She was in love with Matthew Crawley. She was in love with her sister's fiancee. How could this have happened?

She knew exactly how. The kindness, most of all. The eyes, however, bright and blue, played to her weaknesses, and there was nothing she could do to resist them. There was nothing she could do to resist him. She couldn't even resist showing her true fear at his disappearance.

For someone so good at keeping her emotions inside, she was doing a terrible job of it.

The next day was the stupid concert of all things. So she buttoned her blouse, allowed Anna to fix her hair, and tried to forget the troubles that were upon them.

She stood at the front of the room, Sybil at the piano. It wasn't something odd; Mary and Edith performing together on the other hand would have seemed like a dream, but it was not truly odd. "My name is Mary Crawley, this is my sister Sybil Crawley, and we've pulled together to sing a song for you."

She began the first few notes of the song, and her brain began to go onto autopilot. She kept singing, but the only thought that barraged her mind was one of Matthew and how stupid it was that they were doing this meaningless concert while Matthew was out there, possibly a prisoner or dead.

As she reached the chorus, the men began to sing along, and then the rest of the family along with the staff. It felt like support, and Mary was relieved to feel it.

Halfway through, a strong tenor voice joined the song. Mary's eyes flickered upwards, and a flash of blond hair and blue eyes appeared before her.

He was alive. He was safe. He was here.

"Oh thank God," she breathed. Her prayer had worked. Her lucky dog had worked. Whatever it was, he was here, alive and well, and she couldn't remember any feeling of stronger gratitude.

He strode up the aisle, with a new confidence, and said, "Come on, don't stop for me!" With that, he began the end of the chorus, and Sybil quickly joined in to play along. Mary spent a few seconds regaining her composure, and trying to resist the urge to throw her arms around him.

She could not remember any relief greater.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading and reviewing thus far, and I'd love to hear your thoughts. I know I say this every time but reviews are fuel for writers, so please review! Thank you!_


	14. Chapter 14

His hands shook as he tried to fasten his tie.

It was just another battle, he reminded himself. He'd been safe thus far. There was no reason that he couldn't make it out of this battle as well.

He thought this before every battle. And every time, he made it. Somehow, by some divine providence, he made it.

William reached for Matthew's tie and helped him fasten it. William's hands did not shake. He was remarkably calm and brave.

"Are you ready, Mason?" Matthew asked, pulling on his coat.

"I'll be safe if I'm meant to be safe, sir. So there's no reason I shouldn't be."

Matthew wished he had William's faith. It was either brave or naive, and Matthew liked to believe it was the former.

He swallowed. "Am I ready?" It was a much more difficult question.

"Only you can answer that," William replied.

He wasn't. But that didn't matter. It couldn't matter.

Matthew straightened his tie one last tie. "Let's hope this battle doesn't bow to my answer, then."

* * *

Mary was curled up in the window seat, watching a summer rain relentlessly pound the land. She couldn't sleep. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence anymore, she counted herself lucky if she got more than five hours or so. She couldn't pinpoint the exact origin of her insomnia, but her thoughts would never allow her to rest. Often, she would sit in her window seat, sometimes with a book, sometimes with every letter Matthew had written to her. She kept every single one. Maybe it wasn't proper. It probably wasn't even proper that they wrote to each other, really. But she couldn't care less. There was little that would comfort her now, and those letters typically managed the job.

Tonight, however, she couldn't stop shivering. It wasn't as if it was cold, but every time her mind flickered to Matthew's face, a deep shudder ran through her body. As if her reaction was informing her of some forthcoming trouble. And she figured that was why she couldn't sleep. And if that was the case, letters weren't going to help.

So, with her head pressed against the window and the rain echoing in her ears, Mary tried to relax.

Unfortunately, as soon as she was about to doze off, there was a loud knock on her door. She quickly lifted her head and jumped from the window seat as the door opened. It was her father, his eyes wide and frightened. "Mary," he whispered, as if he held information that could not be overhead, "Come downstairs. Now."

"What is it?" Her mind rushed through a million possibilities, but one kept popping up. Matthew. Of course it was Matthew.

Her father confirmed what she already knew to be true. "Isobel had a telegram delivered to Crawley House. She and Molesley ran up here with it. She said... she couldn't be alone to open it."

Mary nodded grimly. "That I can understand. Alright, let's go. We're already making this wait interminable." She pulled on a dressing gown and followed her father down the stairs into the library.

Isobel was sitting by the fire, her eyes red and her hands drumming on her knees anxiously. She tried to smile when Mary and Robert came it, but she couldn't manage it. She only looked like she was about to cry again. "I can't lose him," she whispered, clutching the telegram as tightly as possible.

A few seconds later, Cora entered the room with Sybil by her side. Sybil looked very pale, as if all the color had drained from her face the instant she heard about the telegram.

"I'll open it..." Isobel said, although her words sounded hesitant.

"I will, if you'd like me to," Robert said.

Isobel shook her head vehemently. "No, I need to know." She closed her eyes and tore the telegram open. When her eyes fluttered open again, she scanned the telegram quickly, only looking for a few words.

Regret. Death. Killed.

A few words that were mercifully not there.

"He's alive," Isobel choked out, tears beginning to fall from her eyes, tears of a fear being relieved. She didn't care for anything else. He was alive.

"Thank God," Robert breathed, reaching out to clutch Cora's hand.

Sybil, however, while relieved that he was alive, was not satisfied. "Why would they send us a telegram, then?"

"He's injured," Isobel said, upon reading the telegram a second time. For a moment, a second relief swept over her. He had been injured once before with no ill effects, what more would this be? Her eyes went to the telegram again, and she picked up on a few words that once again made her heart anxious. "They say he's seriously injured. And he's coming back to England."

"What does seriously injured mean?" Mary demanded, her heart beating so loudly that she could hear it in her ears.

Sybil shook her head. "We can't know, not for sure. It could be something that would knock him out of action for a few months, but that he'd recover from. On the other hand, it could be something much worse."

Again, Mary shuddered.

* * *

The nurse's uniform felt heavier today, as if it had more meaning. Sybil glanced in her mirror at herself, before painfully thinking of her fiancee.

Matthew was coming back.

She had exchanged shifts with one of the nurses at the hospital. She had to be there for him when he arrived. What good was her nursing training if she could not help a man she truly cared about?

Her strides down the stairs were quick as she headed to the garage. Her eyes were red and puffy from tears. Although Mary, her dear sister who rarely cried, had shed even more tears. That would have made Sybil concerned about their relationship if she had not been more worried about Matthew's life.

Tom was leaning against the car, a newspaper in hind. His face was drawn, and Sybil could see the remnants of tears.

"Could you take me down to the hospital?"

He looked up at her, and their mutually tearful eyes met. "Don't you need to work here? I've already taken Lady Mary."

Sybil was impressed at the way Mary was taking initiative, but she didn't have time to thing about that. "I wanted to be there for Matthew when he arrived. So I switched shifts with a nurse there."

"You say you aren't in love with him, and then you do all this?"

"Please, don't badger me about this. I don't love Matthew, but I care about him, and there's a difference. I want to give him a familiar face when he wakes up. It's so hard for so many of these men, I want to make it as easy as possible. Can't you understand that?"

Tom nodded. "I'm sorry, it's just... I mean, it's so hard for all of us, we all can understand."

"You're not engaged to him."

"I mean William, too. For us downstairs."

Sybil's face fell. Dear William. Her mind had been so focused on Matthew and her sister that she had entirely forgotten about William, who had been injured in the same blast. "How is he doing."

"He's not going to make it, Sybil."

"What? He came all the way home, just to die? I don't buy this, I'm sure there's a way. Know that Papa will spare no expense if we can help him!"

Tom put a hand on Sybil's wrist to still her. "Sybil. It's not possible."

This news brought fresh tears to her eyes. "Why? Why do they all have to die and get hurt, when they're just fighting for a cause they believe it! War is so senseless and stupid and I hate it! I just hate it! If one man had never been assassinated, the world wouldn't have fallen apart, and thousands of good men wouldn't be dead right now! Sometimes I feel like it's never going to end. And those days just make me hate it even more. Why do they think that men killing other men will settle our problems and make the world a better place? I hate it!"

Tom leaned against the car, and smirked gently through his watery eyes. "Feel any better?"

She pulled up her skirt and kicked the tire of the car, jumping back on impact. The tires were much harder than she expected. "Now I do. Except for the bruise that's going to develop on my foot."

"I admire your spirit." Tom opened the door of the car. "We better get you down to the hospital."

"Right," Sybil replied, barely whispering.

* * *

Mary stood agains the wall of the hospital, waiting to hear for a new transport coming it. She had been waiting like this for what felt like hours, although it couldn't have been more than one or two. During that time, Sybil came in, gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder, and went to attend to her work. And Mary was simply alone with her fears.

When the moment Mary had been preparing herself for arrived, it felt far too soon. She wasn't prepared. but she had to pretend.

Doctor Clarkson advised her to stay away, but Mary adamantly refused. She was a volunteer, and Sybil would help her anyway, and she had to be strong for Sybil. Yes, definitely, all for Sybil. It couldn't be the other way around.

She couldn't keep herself from gasping when they brought him in. He was pale, his typical exuberant complexion a ghostly white, other than the bruises and scrapes that covered his face. Dried blood was all over his face an body that she could see. His closed eyes were dark and hollow. His hair was dark with mud and incredibly messy. Worst of all, however, was that he was not moving. Nothing but the ever so slight rise and fall of his chest indicated that he was alive. And that was what really scared Mary.

Mary composed herself, however, and kept her eyes focused on him as he was lowered into a bed. Sybil came by her side, and whispered to Doctor Clarkson, "I want to take him."

"Are you sure that's appropriate?" Doctor Clarkson asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sybil shrugged. "I don't know. I don't care. I specifically changed shifts to help him, so I'm going to work on cleaning him up."

"He hasn't been awake at all," the ambulance man said to Clarkson, concerned. "They gave him an awful lot of morphine, I think."

Doctor Clarkson nodded. "Thank you. We'll take care of them from here. If there's any other notes on any of them, please tell us. They will be most helpful."

Sybil turned her full attention to the bed, where Mary was seated on the edge and Matthew lay, still motionless. "Alright," Sybil said, trying to take charge, although nerves seemed to overtake her. "Could you check his tag please?"

"Probable spinal damage," Mary recited, looking at the neat handwriting that seemed so emotionless compared to what they were actually dealing with. She glanced up at Sybil's, who was trying not to show what she actually thought for Mary's sake.

"It could mean anything," Sybil said, trying to look hopefully. She couldn't bear to add, 'but not anything good'. "We'll need some water and some towels."

Mary nodded and instantly ran off to fetch the requested items, if only to escape. She had seen spinal injuries among the convalescing soldiers, and none of them had turned out well. Sybil had tried to console her, but Mary knew too much. And unfortunately, Sybil was awful at hiding her own fears.

When she came back, Sybil had stripped back Matthew's shirt, leaving his chest exposed. It didn't look too bad, just quite a bit of dark dried blood. Sybil took a towel, dipped it in the water and then in a bowl of antiseptic, and began to wipe at the wounds.

Mary shuddered, but she gathered enough courage to follow her sister's example.

They worked in silence for what felt like hours, until Sybil told her that they'd have to turn him onto his back. Mary nodded, nervously, and helped Sybil with the maneuver.

She couldn't hold in the gasp at seeing his back, where the wounds seemed so much worse, especially a huge bruise on his lower back, smattered with shrapnel and broken skin. She gave a glance to her typically unperturbed sister, who was trying to keep a nurse like demeanor, but was unsuccessful.

"You were warned," Sybil said, upon seeing her sister's horrified face.

"I don't care. I suppose we have to clean this too."

Sybil admired Mary's determination.

* * *

The first time he awoke, it could barely be called waking. He didn't even open his eyes. He knew only that he was not in total darkness, there were many soft murmurs in the room he slept in, and that his whole body hurt.

Well, actually not his legs, which was a welcome reprieve.

The second time he awoke, his first thought was of Mary, under the great oak at Downton, calling for him to wake up.

He opened his eyes, and they were not outside. Instead, Mary was kneeling by his bed, Sybil standing at the end, and they were trying to wake him. He tried to speak, but he found that his throat was dry and his lips couldn't form any words.

"You're alright," Mary whispered. "Doctor Clarkson will be over in just a few minutes to examine you. You're in the hospital at Downton."

When his eyes flickered toward the end of the bed again, Sybil was gone.

As if she was reading his mind, Mary explained, "She's just gone to fetch Clarkson, she'll be back soon. Would you like some water?"

He gave her a small nod, moving as little as possible but desperate for a drink. She helped him sit up just enough so that he could drink, although even the slight movement caused sharp pain up and down his back. He winced as she laid him back down.

"Are you feeling alright?" Mary asked. She then gave herself a condescending laugh. "Of course you're not, why would I ask you that? But really, are you in much pain? Because we can get more morphine for you."

"Yes..." he managed to whisper, although the word took a while to form on his lips. "But...no morphine. Not now."

She smiled at him sympathetically, reaching for his hand before realizing that touching him in any way could hurt him more. "It looks like Clarkson is coming over here. Your mother is coming too. And the orderlies will set up a few screens."

"Thank you," he croaked, fighting the urge to close his eyes. He was so tired, too tired to even think.

"Stay awake," Mary whispered, reaching for his hand again without thinking. Thankfully he didn't wince. "Clarkson's examination will only take a few minutes, and then you can sleep all you want."

He managed to fight the urge to fall asleep again as white screens were erected and Sybil and Doctor Clarkson carefully shifted him onto the side. The movement made him cry out in pain, but he was too tired to care.

"Can you feel this?" Clarkson asked, his hand on Matthew's upper back.

Mary watched Matthew's face carefully, relieved when he gave a small nod. "He can."

Clarkson pressed further down, to right above where the bruise was. "Can you feel this here?"

Again, he nodded, and Mary repeated the result.

"And this?"

Matthew was making no response. Mary glanced up to see that Clarkson was pressing on Matthew's upper thigh. But there was nothing.

"Can you feel that, Matthew?" Mary asked, panic rising in her voice.

"Feel what?" he asked sleepily. He looked as if he would drift off again.

Mary's eyes widened and she threw a worried glance to Isobel and Sybil. Sybil was taking notes, the pen shaking in her hand, and Isobel was clutching her purse, unable to do anything else.

A few more spots were examined, but Matthew couldn't feel anything. Doctor Clarkson motioned to Sybil to move Matthew onto his back again, and he exited the screens. Isobel, Sybil, and Mary followed close behind.

Robert was waiting outside, his own face pale with worry. "How is he?"

"Not good, I'm afraid," Doctor Clarkson said, as Mary, Sybil, and Isobel approached. "I believe the spinal cord has been transected. Which would mean permanent damage."

Mary's heart sank. She didn't know everything that entailed. She really knew very little. But she knew enough.

"He won't walk again?" Robert asked.

"If I'm right, then no, he won't," Doctor Clarkson said, pressing his hands together.

Sybil glanced at her father, and then took a deep breath to gain the confidence to ask a question. "Will he be able to have children?"

"Sybil!" Robert chided.

"No, it's a legitimate question," Clarkson said, trying to calm Robert. "And as Nurse Crawley is engaged to Captain Crawley, she has every right to ask it. And no, I don't believe he will be able to. The erm...sexual function is controlled at a lower point than motor function. If the latter is cut off, so is the former."

This was the second blow. For Robert, it was the worst outcome possible

"But he'll live?" Mary asked.

"I don't see any reason why he wouldn't. Mind, those suffering from paralysis have a shorter life expectancy, as infection is common and very dangerous for them, but with good care he should live a full life."

"Just a different kind of life," Mary whispered.

Sybil stepped away and went back into the screens, about to tell Matthew. But she saw how tired he was, and how peaceful he was, and she couldn't tell him. Not now. She would give him one more peaceful sleep.

"Sybil," he whispered, as she came in. "Thank you for being here."

"I'm your fiancee," Sybil said, her smile hesitant. "Why wouldn't I be here?"

He took her hand in his and feel asleep, a slight smile on his face.

Sybil feared that his smile would not appear again for a very long time.

* * *

Mary couldn't bring herself to leave. Maybe it wasn't appropriate for her to spend so much time by the beside of her sister's fiancee, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She didn't want him to be alone when he woke up, and Sybil was too busy to spare the time to simply sit by a sleeping man.

She was tired, too. She had barely slept since the telegram had arrived. Her mind had been filled with worry, her heart with despair. Somewhat for Sybil, mostly for Matthew, but a little bit for herself as well. Which was selfish, she knew, but she didn't care.

"Mary," she heard, and she looked down. His blue eyes were staring at her, bright despite the bruising all around them. "Where's Sybil?"

"Working," Mary said. "She couldn't get the time off, but she switched shifts with a nurse at the convalescent home to work here. To be near you, so that you could see her."

"And Mother?"

Mary gave him a tight lipped smile. "We sent her home to sleep. I don't think she had since the telegram came."

"And have you?" he questioned.

"You know me, I'm ninety percent tea anyway." At his chiding look, she added, "Yes, I've slept. Sybil would kill me if I didn't."

He tried to shift in the bed, and hissed in pain.

"Don't move," Mary warned. "Clarkson doesn't want to give you more morphine until you need to sleep again, and we don't want you in pain."

"It's funny," he said, although there really was little humor in his situation, "everything hurts so much. Everything, except for my legs... But I can't really move them. Or feel them. Did Clarkson say what that might be?"

Mary pressed her lips together. "Let's wait until Sybil's shift is over, and then we'll talk about it. And if you'd like your mother here, too..."

She had said the wrong thing. She had made it sound awful. And it truly was, but she was giving him no hope. The panic on his face made her heart sink.

"Tell me." His voice was calm, and did not betray the fear that was pressing inside him.

"We can't be sure about anything of course, you've not even been here a full twenty four hours, nothing is settled now," Mary deflected.

He raised his weak voice as much as he could. "Tell me."

"Clarkson said you may have damaged your spine."

She watched as everything collapsed. She didn't have to tell him any more; he was the son of a doctor and a nurse, he knew. His eyes closed, and when they opened again, tears began to spill out. His arms, carefully situated on top of the covers, began to shake. "How long will it take to repair?" he asked.

A last desperate hope that was barely that.

"You can't expect them to put timings on this kind of thing," Mary said, her own voice shaking. She wanted to cry as well, but she had to stay strong.

"But it will get better." It was more of a question than a statement, but more of a prayer than anything else.

She didn't know how to answer him. She couldn't lie to him. But she couldn't bluntly tell him the truth either. "You have to regain your strength first, and then we'll see."

He wasn't fooled. "So, never then?"

Mary ignored his dejected and sarcastic statement. "He said you'll be able to live a perfectly full and normal life."

"Just not a very mobile one," he muttered, and Mary's heart broke all over again. She rarely cried, and yet her tears wanted to flow. She couldn't stay here. She couldn't cry in front of him like that.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked. "I know I would." It was an excuse, but truth be told, nothing sounded better than a comforting cup of tea. Other than waking up and discovering that this was all an awful nightmare.

Matthew painfully lifted a hand to wipe a tear from his eye. "I'm sorry that I'm blubbing, it's just..."

"Blub all you like," Mary replied sympathetically. "When Sybil's off of her shift, you can make plans."

She could barely hold back her own tears until she walked away.

* * *

The ward at evening was rather eerily quiet. It was a time between the nurses on day shift and night shift, and Sybil was one of the few nurses left. Most had gone home, and the night shift nurses had not arrived.

Most of the men were quiet.

Satisfied that all was in order, Sybil quietly weaved between the rows until she reached Matthew's bed.

There was no chair nearby, so she took the liberty of sitting on the edge of his bed.

He barely even looked at her.

"Matthew," she said quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace of the ward. "How are you feeling?"

"Do you mean relatively, or in general? Because in both cases, I'm feeling quite awful."

Sybil wasn't used to the sarcastic, bitter man who lay in the bed. "Do you want anything?I'm authorized to give you some morphine if you wish. Or even a sleeping draught..."

"Could you give me my legs back?" he asked, despondently. A chuckle escaped from his mouth. "If only you could. You know, though. They told you."

"Clarkson told me everything."

He raised a eyebrow. "Really? Everything? Well then, I suppose we should get it over with."

"Get what over with?"

"You came here to break our engagement, didn't you?"

Sybil's eyes widened. "No, not at all, I..."

"It's perfectly alright, I was hoping to speak with you about this anyway. Because I can't steal your life away, especially when neither of us wanted this in the first place. It's a perfect excuse to break it off. Sybil, I'm very fond of you, but that is no reason to steal away the happiness that you might be able to find with someone else." Matthew brought up a hand to wipe some of the wetness from his eyes.

This was what she wanted, wasn't it? An easy solution to her issue between Matthew and Tom?

But this was the opposite of easy, and the brunt of the hardship fell onto Matthew.

Sybil clasped his hand. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes," Matthew said. His eyes were teary, but his voice was firm. "This is what I want."

* * *

When Sybil's shift was over, and after she had spoken to Matthew, she declined calling the car, instead walking home in order to clear her head.

However, her first stop upon arriving home was the garage, where she immediately fell into Tom's arms.

He was surprised, but not unhappy. That was, until he saw her tear streaked face. "Sybil? Are you alright?" he asked. It was a stupid question, as she obviously wasn't alright, but she had to find out what was going on.

* * *

"It's Matthew," she said. And for once, Tom didn't groan upon hearing the name.

"They told us what's happened," Tom said sympathetically. "I can't say I liked him all that much, if only out of spiteful reasons, but I would never wish that on anybody. Poor man."

"It's worse than just not walking, but never mind that," Sybil said, certain that the worse details of Matthew's injuries had not been shared by Carson. "He broke it off with me. We aren't engaged anymore."

Tom wasn't sure whether to feel happy or sad. Of course it was terrible for Sybil's engagement to be broken off. On the other hand, if she wanted to take up with him, there was little standing in their way. But of course he couldn't bring that up. Not now. So he tried not to show any emotion, only asking, "Why?"

"Because he's being stupid and noble," Sybil complained. "But I have a feeling at least my mother will agree with him. Papa, on the other hand, will be devastated."

"And you?"

"I'm sad, of course. But I'm more sad that he feels the need to do this, rather than saddened by the actual act. I'm just sad that he sees himself as so useless now. But as awful as I am for thinking this, it does make things a little bit simpler with you."

Tom's eyes lit up. "Is that your answer?"

"Not now. I think it would be a little bit crass to take up with you right after my engagement is broken, not to mention that my family will kill me, and I'd rather have Matthew well enough to stand...well, I guess not stand but you know what I mean...up for me. Because I know he will."

"But soon."

"When the war ends," Sybil said, "we'll reevaluate. I'm so sorry for making you wait. I just hope I'm worth it."

"You're worth everything," Tom consoled.

Mary was again curled up in the window seat, processing what had happened that day. Matthew had broken with Sybil, tearfully, but adamantly. She didn't think he timed it well; he would have done better to wait until he could logically argue without breaking into tears. But she agreed with his reasoning.

She agreed that it wasn't fair for him to keep Sybil away from a potentially loving marriage when he could not offer her any sort of marriage, although the thought pained her. And she knew that Sybil's idea of a loving marriage would be with Branson, which scared her. She didn't want her sister subjected to the gossip. But would Sybil be happy with Branson?

Her own mind was racing, after Sybil told her of the broken engagement. Was Matthew just breaking it off because he didn't love Sybil? Or was he adamant that he would never marry? He said he couldn't offer anything, but he still had Downton. He still could give a girl he married a countess's coronet. He could still give any woman a grand lifestyle. He just couldn't offer children.

But then again, neither could she.

Her parents hoped that she would marry again, although she often pointed out the futility of that desire. No man, or at least no desirable man, would want a wife who could not give him children, who could not provide him with an heir. And she was sure they would hope that Matthew would marry. Probably just not Sybil.

But anyone either of them married could never have children, and neither she nor Matthew wanted to inflict that on anyone.

If they were together, they wouldn't have to inflict that on anyone else.

She loved him. She couldn't pinpoint when she had fallen for him, perhaps because her feelings were deeply suppressed. And he loved her. He had kissed her, however inappropriate. As much as she tried to forget that day, it stayed in her memory.

If he still loved her, why shouldn't they be together?

Mary stood up from the window seat, resolute. She would build a relationship with him, a deeper one than they had. She would stop suppressing her feelings for him, and hope that he would do the same. She would wait until he had recovered some, especially emotionally. She would wait until he no longer considered himself worthless. She would give him a sense of worth. She would implore him to spend the rest of his life with her.

From tragedy would rise love.

* * *

 _This is where I originally completed the Nanowrimo challenge, which I did back in November, so this was the 50,000 word mark. I've definitely edited it enough that it's longer than it originally was. I have about 5 more chapters written that are waiting to be edited, and I think I have about 3 or 4 more to write. Anyway, thank you so much for reading. Please review, reviews make for a happy and productive writer!_


	15. Chapter 15

He was in one of his moods again.

Ever since Matthew came home from the front, he dedicated quite a bit of his time to sulking. This was understandable, at least in the first weeks. It was frustrating for everyone, but they put up with it. His life was completely different now; he was allowed to mourn for the loss of his old life.

But he had been home for two months. Every day, Mary wondered if these moods would ever go away. They hadn't, so far. And it was beginning to make her weary. She could only wonder how Matthew kept up his moody demeanor without tiring.

"You should try and talk to him," Sybil prodded, one sunny afternoon. He was outside, sitting by the bench under the tree. Alone. "He won't talk to me."

Mary gave her sister a perplexed look. "Why not?"

Sybil shrugged. "He gave some stupid speech about making a clean break or whatnot. I don't agree, but he's been going out of his way to avoid me, so I guess he's serious. You might be able to get something out of him. I think I'm too much a reminder of... what he used to have. He might not be ready for that."

Mary doubted, in that case, that she would be any better at getting him out of his moods than Sybil. "What if he's never ready?"

"Then we'll have to make him be," Sybil replied, picking up a glass bottle of medicine. "I would try harder, but it's not like I have copious amounts of time to try and coax conversation out of him. There's been so many patients flooding in, it's difficult to keep up."

Mary nodded. "You're sure you're alright with all of this? It isn't too much for you?"

"It's far less than these men have given. I should do my part."

Impressed with her younger sister's dedication, Mary patted Sybil's shoulder and walked out onto the lawn, approaching the bench that Matthew was sitting by.

She gently sat down, but he barely seemed to notice. "Matthew? How are you today?'

"Alive," he said. "Did you expect any more?"

"At least there's that," Mary replied, trying to sound cheerful. It really was devastating to see him so despondent. She wasn't sure what to say, and her mouth felt dry. She had to cut straight to the point. "Sybil says you won't talk to her."

Matthew sighed heavily. "It's for her own good. I want a clean break, I don't want her feeling any sort of obligation."

"As much as I admire your ideals, it's not exactly feasible when you live under the same roof. She's one of your nurses. And she's your cousin! You can't exactly avoid her. You're just hurting her even more."

"Hurting Sybil is the last thing I want to do."

"Then at least be friends with her! You're not splitting up on bad terms, the two of you were friends, at least. You're hurting her as it is."

Matthew stared at his lap, his eyes glassy. "And we don't want to hurt Sybil."

"And we could, very easily," Mary muttered.

"I think we need to tell her." Matthew's head suddenly straightened, and his posture grew firm and determined. "We need to tell her about what went on between us."

Mary bit her lip hesitantly. "Are you sure? Is this just part of your plan to push Sybil further away from you?"

"If she's still determined..."

"You can't push everyone who loves you away!" Mary interrupted. "Sybil loves you. Not in a romantic way, I know. But she loves you as a friend and a brother and a confidante."

"Some confidante I am, kissing you while I'm engaged to her."

"Don't beat yourself up over that, Matthew, it's as much my fault as it was yours."

Matthew shook his head vehemently. "I initiated it."

"Sybil isn't going to be angry at you. If this is just part of your plan to push her away, don't bother, she's very forgiving and..."

"Whatever it does, we need to tell Sybil. My life with any part of that is over, and Sybil deserves honesty. And if it makes her feel better about everything, and how she doesn't have to marry me anymore, then that's not a bad thing."

"My life with any part of that was over six years ago. And yet, here we are," Mary said reflectively. "Your life isn't over, Matthew. You're still alive, and that's enough."

"So you agree that we should tell Sybil?"

Mary sighed. "It's a part of my past I'd rather keep closed, but if you feel it absolutely necessary. It was a fleeting moment, Matthew, it didn't mean anything."

"Didn't it?"

"Can we forget it ever happened?"

Matthew shook his head. "I can't. I... I don't want to. My mind always goes to that moment, to how right it felt. And yet, it was so wrong. And I need the weight of that off of my chest. I'll entirely take the blame if Sybil is angry, it was my fault after all. But I insist we tell her."

Mary's heart fluttered as she thought of that fleeting moment. And there was a relief in knowing Matthew felt the same way about it. "We'll tell Sybil. But no one else."

"I'd rather the others not know of my shame anyway," Matthew agreed. "I just want Sybil to be happy, and for her to find someone. I've taken enough of her life already."

* * *

Sybil nearly collapsed on the bench in the garage, letting out a heavy sigh. "I swear, every day we get two men for every man that leaves. I love my work, but it's so tiring at times."

"You're just not used to it," Tom replied, opening up the hood of the car. "Most of us have been working since we were still teens."

"But I never had the opportunity or the incentive," Sybil said ruefully. "I know it's awful of me to resent my privilege when I have so much more than other people, but sometime I do. Sometimes I wish I was part of a different world than the restricting one of corsets and social structure."

"I've offered you a way out."

"And I'm thinking about it," Sybil said. "I'm sorry, it must be so very frustrating for you."

"It's enough for me that you're thinking about it. That gives me hope," Tom replied, forcing a smile.

Sybil stood up and brushed a hand against his cheek. She shivered and quickly pulled it away, but not without a genuine smile. "I've had a lot of time to think. And I do love you. I know I've said it but I'm not sure you believed me. I'm not sure I believed me."

"I'm not sure I believed you either, honestly."

"It's taken me two, six, almost seven years to realize it, but yes, I think I do."

His eyes were wide with awe. "I'm quite flattered."

"Isn't that a word posh people say when they're going to say no?" Sybil teased.

"Ah, but I'm not a posh person," Tom replied, leaning against the car. The initial shock of Sybil's declaration was wearing off. "Does this mean..."

Sybil pressed her lips together. "You're going to have to wait. I'm not going anywhere until the end of the war. And I want to discuss it with Matthew."

"Why? Haven't you broken with him?"

"Yes. He's quite adamant about that. But I also don't want him to feel like I'm trying to replace him. It might hurt him to know that we've been doing... whatever this is... behind his back for years, but I'd rather him know that than have false guilt. Knowing him, he will. But also, I want his support. I need someone to be in my corner. Mary knows, but she's not thrilled with the idea. She won't rat me out or anything but she won't support me entirely. Matthew might. He's our best shot for support inside out family."

Tom nodded, allowing a small, genuine smile to pull at the corners of his mouth. "You do love him, don't you."

"Yes, I do. But it's different with him. He's more of a brother than a lover. I just wish he'd talk to me."

"You didn't fall out, did you?"

Sybil shook her head. "Not in the typical sense. But he's been avoiding me. According to Mary, he wants to have a clean break, which is ridiculous considering we're cousins and we live in the same house. So let's hope we can resolve that too."

Tom stepped forward and daringly placed a hand on her hip. She didn't flinch away. "I'm glad this is resolved."

"It isn't yet."

"I have more hope than ever."

* * *

Sybil looked bright and airy, Mary noticed, as she walked down the hallway. Her sister looked like she was floating on air.

"Sybil? Could I talk to you before dinner?" Mary called down the hall.

She nodded, hurrying down to the door in front of Mary's room. "What was it you wanted to discuss?"

"Well, I talked to Matthew like you wanted me to," Mary said. She sat down on her bed, and Sybil flopped down next to her.

"He has something he'd like to discuss with you. Tonight, after dinner, in the library? Does that work for you?"

Sybil nodded. "I'm off my shift tonight. Do you know what this is about?"

"Yes, because it involves me. But I'm not going to say anything more because Matthew wants to be there to talk about it."

"That makes me a little bit nervous, but alright." Sybil swung her legs on the edge of the bed, nervously twisting her hands together. "There's something I'd like to tell him too. I know you won't approve of this, but I want to accept Tom."

Mary stared at her lap. "So it's come to this. My little sister marrying the chauffeur."

"Mary... I love him. And I know that you, of all people, would want to support a marriage of love."

"Why? I never got such a marriage," Mary muttered.

"Please. Be happy for me?"

Mary sighed and pulled her little sister into her arms. "I'm happy you're in love. I can't say your choice of husband makes me especially happy, but I'm glad it's something you get to experience."

"Have you ever experienced it? Truly, I mean."

"Yes," she whispered softly in reply. "You'll soon see how."

* * *

It was rare that Matthew would go a day without wishing for something he could do before his injury. This evening, it was pacing. There was something about walking back and forth that calmed his nerves. And wheeling himself just didn't cut it.

Sybil and Mary were taking a while, probably trying to get away from the drawing room conversation. That would be a feat, especially since both Violet and his mother were at dinner.

He, however, ate with the soldiers. It confounded the family. Well, everyone except for Mary, who understood, although she didn't approve. He was still trying to avoid Sybil. He was in an odd limbo, between a convalescing soldier and a member of the family. He tried to lean toward the former, however, in order to avoid all the newfound awkwardness that he realized he was causing.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the door opened and in came Sybil and Mary, both radiant in their evening gowns but solemn of face.

"Good evening, Matthew," Sybil said, in as cheerful a voice as she could muster.

He forced a smile at her. Nowadays, every smile was forced. "Good evening," he replied, wheeling his chair over by the couches.

Mary and Sybil each took a couch and put their hands primly in their laps. It was almost amusing to see how identical they were.

The three sat in silence for a few minutes before Mary stood up again. "I think we need drinks to even start this conversation," she said.

Sybil nodded wholeheartedly. "Yes please." Robert typically frowned on her drinking anything stronger than wine, but the conversation was already awkward enough.

"Matthew?" Mary asked, at the drinks cabinet.

He frowned and shook his head. "I'll pass. I'm afraid pain medication and strong alcohol don't mix so well."

Mary threw him a sympathetic glance as she settled down on the couch again, handing a glass of amber liquid to Sybil, who sipped it gratefully before making a bit of a face.

"So, Sybil... The reason I wanted to talk to you tonight is kind of hard to tell, and I'm afraid it might hurt you, but..."

Sybil put the glass down on the armrest. "Matthew, I'm beyond being hurt right now. Nothing's been done against me that will hurt me."

"The thing is... One day, when I was home, and you were off at nursing college, Mary and I, we..."

Mary sighed. "Sybil, I'm just going to put this bluntly. I love Matthew. I'm in love with him. I have been for a long time, probably longer than I've known. He's known this since before the war began."

"I kissed her once." Matthew admitted.

"And he felt terribly guilty afterward. But I didn't."

"Mary, is this really something you should tell..."

"Look, Sybil. We haven't told you before because we didn't want to hurt you. Because we've had the impression that you're in love with Matthew. But I know you're not. Not that way, anyway. Matthew doesn't."

Matthew looked up from his lap, his cheeks red from blushing. "What?"

Sybil looked wide eyed from all of the information she was absorbing, but nodded. "I'm going to marry Tom. Tom Branson, the chauffeur."

"This is news to me," Matthew said.

"Well, I wanted to keep it a secret, because honestly I thought you were in love with me, and I just wasn't feeling it the same way. He proposed to me almost four years ago, when I went to nursing school. I wasn't sure then, but I'm sure now."

Matthew took Sybil's hand in his and tried to smile at her. "And you love him?"

"Yes. It's taken me a very long time to realize it, but I do."

"I suppose I have no right to be mad at you for anything," he said, "and I'm happy for you, that you've found someone."

Sybil's eyes brightened. "Then you'll support me in this? Since my parents won't like it at all."

"Of course I'll support you. I have no reason not to."

She jumped out of her seat and threw her arms around him, surprising him as she pulled him into an awkward hug. "I'm so thankful for you."

"And I'm glad I have you to be so understanding," Matthew replied. "And most of all, I'm glad you've found your own love."

"And now you just need to find yours."

Matthew pressed his lips together. "Who would want me like this? Sybil, I wouldn't want to tie anyone down to this. A childless life, unfulfilling, why would..."

His eye caught Mary's.

She felt a sudden moment of bravery. If she didn't say something now, would she ever get as good a chance? "I would."

"Mary?"

Sybil let go of their embrace and turned to her sister. "I certainly believe you."

Mary stood up and stepped toward him. "You know I love you. You've known for a long time. And I believe you love me. Would I be correct in saying that?"

"Yes," Matthew whispered.

"You say you have no hope of marriage. Neither do I. I'm not desirable, any man who married me would be tied down to a childless existence. Does this sound familiar?"

He met her eyes, his own pleading in desperation. "Mary, don't believe you have no chance. Please. You're beautiful, you're still quite young, you're an incredible woman, of course you have a chance."

"But I don't. Patrick died six years ago. Here I am, and no man has courted me since then. I'm going to remain a spinster for the rest of my life. Unless..."

"Are you proposing?"

Mary rolled her eyes. "It's rather unconventional. I'd really rather you do it."

He couldn't help but let out a laugh. "Are you serious?"

"You don't want this." Mary said. It was a question, an assumption. A prayer that she was wrong.

"No, I want it very much."

"Then do it."

Matthew looked down sheepishly. "Well, this wasn't what I planned for tonight. And I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to kneel. I'm not sure you know what you're getting into, either. It's so much more than not having children and I don't want to place that on you in any sense..."

"Matthew Crawley," Mary said, in a commanding voice. "I love you. I've loved you for a very long time. That said, you are the most stupidly honorable man I know. And I love you for it. Why do you think I've been helping care for you since you came back? Why do you think I've been by your side all this time? Really, you can't imagine I'm that selfless. I've known what society sees as a good marriage. Patrick and I were a good match in theory, but there was no love, and it turned out awful. But I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I'm not leaving Downton anyway, at least not unless I'm forced to. If we love each other, why shouldn't we be together?"

Matthew let out a deep breath, tears beginning to spring to his eyes. "I don't want to tie you down to this," he said, waving his hand over his lower body. "I won't be a very good husband to you. I can't be a proper husband to you."

"If you're speaking of sexual intimacy, I'm familiar with it. It isn't really worth it, not if you don't love the other. For Patrick and I, it was duty. I can't do that for duty again."

He grimaced as he shifted in the chair. "It won't be easy."

Mary smiled at him. "I don't think life is ever easy. But it can be right."

"Well, if you're certain..."

"I am certain. I've never been more certain of anything in my life."

He smiled. Genuinely this time. "Well, then."

"You still need to propose."

"Ah, yes," he said, moving his chair toward her. "Well, getting down on one knee is out of the question. And I don't have a ring. Or anything planned out to say because I had no idea you wanted to do this."

Sybil patted his shoulder. She felt strange watching this proposal take place, and yet it felt so right. She figured she would need to leave soon, but not before she gave her former fiancee advice. "It doesn't matter. Just say whatever comes to you."

He took Mary's hand in his. "I'm not nearly as good as you deserve, but for some reason unbeknownst to me, you love me, far more than you should. And I love you, although it's taken a long time for me to even admit it to myself. I know we'll struggle. There will be plenty of troubles ahead. But if we face them together, the hardship will be halved. So, Lady Mary Crawley, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

She didn't hesitate to say, "Yes!" She immediately fell into his lap, causing the chair to roll backwards until Sybil caught it. She quietly put the brake on and slipped out of the room.

Mary and Matthew giggled together, unable to stop laughing as they pressed their lips to one another.

"I never thought I could be this happy again," Matthew murmured against her lips. "I thought my life was over."

"It's just beginning," Mary replied.

Matthew rubbed her back gently. "Was it the drink or just the pure honest atmosphere of the room that caused you to admit what you did?"

"All of it," Mary replied. "There's a reason liquor is called liquid courage. But I'm so glad I did. It's usually so hard to be truly openly honest, but I'm so glad I was."

"So I am," he whispered, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. "So am I."

* * *

 _I really loved writing that last scene, and I hope you guys love it as much as I do! Thank you all for your support, and don't worry, there's still more story to tell. If you could, please leave a review! They are the most encouraging thing you can give to a writer!_


	16. Chapter 16

The night before had been so perfect. The morning after felt so wrong.

Matthew woke early. It took him a few minutes to realize why he woke. It was a nightmare that drew him out of his slumber.

But it wasn't the usual nightmare. Not a dream of the fields of France, of explosions and mud and blood and death. No, he was home in this one, and Mary was there as well, and they were married and... she hated him. She screamed at him, told him that he would be better off dead, told him that she hated him for ruining her life.

How could he do this to her?

The sensible part of his mind said that it was just his own fears. That wasn't Mary. Of course it wasn't her.

But what if one day he did that to her? What if that was what their future would be like?

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Mary came in, wearing a smile that Matthew had rarely seen before. It was something real, and it almost managed to warm his heart, were it not for the fear that managed to settle in his chest.

"Good morning," she said softly.

With a good deal of effort, he pushed himself into a sitting position and tried not to grimace. "Are you sure you should be in here?"

"Nobody can accuse us of anything. They don't even know yet."

Matthew frowned. "Maybe they shouldn't."

"Don't start this again. How much does it take to convince you that I don't care? I don't care about your injury, it won't affect my love for you in any way. And Matthew, as difficult as it's been for me to say this for a multitude of reasons, mostly because of Sybil, I really do love you. And I have for a long time. This isn't pity, or me trying to catch you at an advantage, or even me giving everything up. It's love, pure and simple."

He appreciated her impassioned speech, but shook his head and sighed. "Mary, I had a dream last night. It wasn't the usual kind of nightmare either."

"Th

* * *

e usual kind?"

Damn. No one was supposed to know about his nightmares.

"War... every soldier gets them practically. Someday I'll talk about them... Not right now. But anyway, Mary, you hated me. We were at home, but you hated me and said I ruined your life and I can't bear to think that might happen in the future."

"It won't though."

Matthew wished he could believe her.

"What will it take for me to convince you that this is right?" Mary turned away, and then quickly back to him. Her lips found their way onto his. When they finally broke away for breath, Mary smirked and said, "Will that do the job?"

"Convince me again," he replied.

Mary did so gladly.

After a few minutes of convincing, Matthew pulled away. "Are you sure, Mary?"

"I've never been more sure of anything. I'll love you for the rest of our lives."

Something clicked in Matthew's brain. He was told he wouldn't live long. Paraplegics never did. Even with the best of care, something should pick him off sooner rather than later. Mary wouldn't be stuck with him for the rest of her life. But he could have this happiness without compromising hers. "Alright," he said quietly. "I'm sure."

Mary ran her fingers through his hair. "Wonderful. Now shall we tell them all today?"

"This should come as quite the surprise to all of them," Matthew said. "We don't have to tell them about our ...erm, moments of passion, right?"

"No, I'd rather not. Sybil's fine with it, but Papa might not be."

Matthew laughed. "How do we explain it, then?"

"We've been friends for ages. Neither of us is likely to get any offers of marriage. We've found that we love each other in at least some capacity, and this way I get what was always meant to be mine and you'll have your countess and companion. It's not a bad arrangement, really."

"Is that all this is? An arrangement?"

Mary grinned and stood. "To them it is. To us, of course it isn't." She pulled on the bell cord. "Bates should come help you get dressed."

"How are we going to tell them?"

"Formal dinner. How else do you announce an engagement?"

* * *

The day was relatively calm. Most of the soldiers were in the library, reading or playing games or talking. Matthew was among them, his nose buried in a book.

Sybil was on a break, and spotted Matthew across the room. "Matthew, could you come into the small library? I'd like to speak with you."

"Of course," Matthew said, putting his book on his lap and slowly rolling his chair toward her. "Is anything the matter?"

"No. I just didn't get to congratulate you last night," she said, closing the door behind them.

"You'll have a better opportunity to do that when Mary and I announce it tonight."

Sybil gave him a sympathetic smile. "Good luck with that."

"I might need it. Who knows how they'll react?"

She took a seat across from him. "If they're right, they'll be absolutely delighted for you. They know you and I aren't getting married, and if I'm honest, they'll be glad about that. Of course they'll be less glad when they find out who I'm actually going to marry..."

"The chauffeur."

"That was what I really wanted to talk to you about..." Sybil said sheepishly.

Matthew raised an eyebrow. "I knew you had another reason."

"I love him, Matthew. And I know it might seem sudden and ill thought, but he first told me he loved me when he came here. I think that was five years ago? So this isn't something sudden. And it took me a very long time to admit I was in love with him, because honestly I wasn't sure if I just liked him as a friend or if it was something more or if I just found him attractive and didn't actually like him at all. I was confused. But I've realized now that I do love him. He isn't perfect, no one is, and he's not going to make the family especially happy... but he'll make me happy, Matthew. Since I started nursing, I realized that this life isn't for me. Changing five times a day isn't fulfilling. Some people would love to live this kind of life, I know, and I would gladly trade them if I could. So I don't care that I'm giving up riches and parties and all that. I just want him." She met her cousin's eyes. "Will you support me?"

"Admittedly, I think you're being a little naive."

She rolled her eyes. "Can I depend on you or not?"

"Of course you can count on me. But Sybil, I want you to be happy. And I'm not sure you know what you're getting into."

"Maybe I was naive before the war. I'm not now."

Matthew shook his head. "Look, I'll stick up for you. Branson is a good man. And I do believe he can make you happy. Just... promise me that you know this is what you want?"

"Why can no one believe that I know my own mind?"

"Because so many of us do not even know our own minds; how can we think anyone else knows theirs?"

Sybil was silent.

* * *

Mary didn't often go down to the garage. Even when ordering the car, she usually did it through Sybil, who went down to the garage constantly.

Even then, she had been encouraging Sybil's relationship with Tom.

No, the match wasn't perfect. And Mary didn't think he was nearly good enough for her sister. But Sybil was a determined girl, and Mary knew there was no use in trying to change her mind. So it was her job, as the older sister, to lay down the law with Tom.

"Good afternoon, milady," Tom said, as she entered the garage. "Anything I can help you with?"

"Actually, yes," Mary said, "but it isn't the usual thing."

Tom frowned. "Is this about Sybil?"

"It is."

"So that's the end of it then. I'm off, fired, with no chance of ever seeing her again."

Mary almost found herself laughing. Was this what Tom expected her to do? "I'm not my father. Maybe I don't approve, but then again no one is good enough for Sybil in my eyes."

"Not even Mr. Crawley?" He immediately looked at the ground. "That was impertinent, I'm sorry."

"Did Sybil tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

He knew. He knew about her feelings. And yet he couldn't know. He didn't know what transpired in the library the night before. He couldn't know her feelings. Did he see it? Did he see it in her eyes? Mary's heart beat faster, but she brushed it off. "Never mind."

"Why did you come here, milady?"

"Look. I know my sister as well as I know myself. You'll never find a girl who's as trusting or as kind. And because of that, she's vulnerable. And if you love her..."

Tom interrupted, "I do."

"Well then, be good to her. Make her happy. If you hurt her in any way, there will be consequences."

He looked a little bit frightened. "Of course, milady. I love Sybil more than anything. I would never hurt her."

"I told Matthew this, when he was going to marry her. I love my sister, and I want nothing more than for her to be happy. I'll choose her happiness over mine, no matter what. That's how important she is to me. And if you can make her happy, then you have my blessing, reluctant though I might be."

"Thank you, milady."

Mary allowed herself to give him a soft smile. "When will you announce it?"

"Sybil hasn't formally given me her answer yet."

"She will," Mary assured him, "She will, and when the time comes for you to tell everyone, here's my advice. Give them time. Matthew and I are on your side, but no one else will be. They'll all need time to adjust to the idea."

"Like you did?"

Mary wasn't used to being spoken to like that, but she nodded. "Yes. I've known about you and Sybil for quite a while now. And it took me a while to get used to the idea. You can expect no more from my father."

* * *

Matthew couldn't stop shaking. Even his legs seemed to shake nervously, the shaking of the rest of his body was so strong. Dinner felt long and arduous, and he couldn't concentrate on the useless, mundane conversation that surrounded him.

At least, until the focus turned to him.

"I'm glad you've joined us, Matthew. I must say, we've missed you when you've been dining with the other soldiers," Robert said.

Matthew ducked his head in thankful acknowledgement.

"Ah, yes, why have you decided to dine with us? And why was I told that I must attend dinner tonight?" Violet asked, with a pointed look at Matthew.

He panicked and met Mary's eyes.

She nodded.

He couldn't find the words.

She stood and made her way around the table to lay a hand on his shoulder. "Matthew and I have something we'd like to announce, actually."

Matthew placed his hand on her and squeezed it.

"We're engaged," Mary said. It was calm, cool, matter of fact.

The reaction was silence.

Sybil, of course, grinned. But everyone else was completely taken aback.

Mary surveyed the table. Her heart dropped in her chest as no one showed support. "I know it might seem sudden, and abrupt, and probably slightly strange, but I love him. And honestly, I have for a long time."

"And I, more recently, discovered I love her," Matthew said, glancing over his shoulder to encourage her with a smile.

"Of course, I never thought we'd ever have a chance. But neither of us are exactly catches when it comes to marriage anymore. We're both facing some of the same issues. And if we're together, no one else with have to deal with any of that. In the grand scheme of things, it's really a rather logical solution."

"Though our own rational thought didn't really come into it," Matthew added.

"No," Mary said, allowing herself to laugh. "No, but if we love each other, why shouldn't we try for happiness where we can."

"I think it's lovely," Sybil said.

"Hear, hear!" Isobel agreed. "I'm so very happy for you both."

Cora's gaze had not moved from Mary and Matthew. "I'm just not sure what benefit there is..."

"Mama, I've always wanted to be the Countess of Grantham. I've always and forever wanted to live here. You pushed me to marry Patrick so that I could be a countess. And that was taken away from me, along with so much else. And you ask what the benefit in this case is?"

Cora glanced at her plate. "I'm happy for you, I just wonder if you haven't..." she took a quick glance directly at Matthew, "thought things through."

"I have. And believe me, I had to convince him. I had to tell him that it was alright, that I was alright. That nothing could make me happier. And I assure you, none of that is a lie."

"Very well then," Cora said, in a way that made it sound as if nothing was settled.

Robert then raised his glass. "It's a bit unconventional, but if you're sure it will make you happy."

"It will," Mary said firmly.

"That's all I want for you girls, is for you to be happy."

Sybil raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Of course it is," Mary said. Her eyes, however, said 'not now'.

"Then to Mary and Matthew!" Robert said, raising his glass. "And to making the best of even the worst situations. To happiness from ashes!"

* * *

The coffee seemed more bitter than usual.

Or perhaps it was just the glances that her mother was throwing her way, as if she had done something wrong. Cora had given her a whispered scolding, something about asking permission, and thinking about wanting a life a nursemaid. Cora obviously thought that Mary was wrong.

To love? How could that be wrong?

Mary sipped her coffee and looked wistfully to the door.

Somehow it worked, and the door opened, Robert pushing Matthew through.

Matthew wheeled himself over to where Mary was sitting and gave her a tight smile. He looked absolutely exhausted, slumping in his chair, his eyebrows working to fight off a pained grimace, but happy all the same.

"How did it go?" Mary asked quietly, glancing over her shoulder to see her father jovially talking with Violet.

He shrugged. "Not too bad. Your father seems pretty happy about it. I guess he's realized there's no chance he'll ever have an heir, it's best to let us try and find happiness where we can. Your mother, on the other hand..."

"I don't know why she's so against it."

Matthew lowered his voice to a whisper. "I think my... situation makes her rather uncomfortable."

"Well then, that's too bad for her because she'll have to get used to it. You're not going anywhere," Mary replied defiantly.

He plastered on a smile. "Right."

"She did ask me what kind of wedding I wanted. Whether I desired some big affair or something small. I told her it's up to you. I've had the big wedding before, so it's not like I'd be missing out, so I don't really care."

"I'm afraid I'm not up to anything big, and that isn't what I want anyway."

Mary smiled and took his hand in hers. "Good. All I want... all I've wanted for years, really, is to be married to you."

* * *

The click of her heels on the hard pavement outside was comforting. She was here. She was here again.

He put down his newspaper. "You're here quite late."

"It was a busy night. I suppose you've heard the news?"

Tom shook his head. "I don't get to eat in the servant's hall."

"Oh." Her mouth rounded and she continued. "My sister and Matthew are getting married."

He quirked an eyebrow.

"Maybe it seems odd to you. Everyone was else is very shocked," Sybil explained. "I've known, I was there when they got engaged, but I suppose I should have seen something before then. I was naive. And honestly, maybe I thought more highly of myself than I should have. I thought Matthew was totally in love with me, and I didn't want to break his heart. And he seemed to think the same thing about me. So, really, it was a mess of us not wanting to hurt the other."

"But that's all resolved now?" Tom asked. Maybe there was too much hope in his voice. He tried not to meet her eyes.

"Almost."

He worked up the courage to raise his gaze and meet hers. "What resolution is needed?"

"Well, now Matthew is happy, especially considering... everything. And I'm so glad for him. But it's also time I pursued my own happiness."

Waiting was the hardest part.

Sybil stepped forward and smiled softly. "Mary told me that she came to you... she told you to be good to me."

"I must admit, it rather frightened me," Tom said sheepishly.

"Mary has that effect. But, of course, you probably know the answer to your question already."

Tom pressed his lips together. "I just want to hear you say it."

She took another step toward him and couldn't hide her grin. She glanced at her feet, looked up again, and there he was. Himself, nothing more, nothing less. And in that instant, she knew. It was real, and her answer was right.

"Yes," she breathed. "My answer is, and always will be, yes."

His eyes lit up. Maybe he shouldn't have been surprised, but he was still hearing it. What he had waited for, after four or five long years, here it was.

He brushed his fingers against her cheek, ready to kiss her right there.

He stopped short.

"May I?" he asked, his gaze intent on her lips.

Sybil didn't answer. Instead, she pressed her lips to his in reply.

For a minute, it seemed like everything stopped. Rules of society and propriety were put aside for that minute, just for them. Just so that they could have this.

When they pulled apart, Sybil let out a breath of laughter. "How is that for an answer?"

"Better than any words can convey," Tom replied.

"No one can know. Not just yet. I may tell Matthew and Mary, but just because I know they'll support me. But no one else."

Tom nodded. "I agree. Although, part of me wants to shout to the world that look, you're engaged to me!"

"Is this an engagement?"

"If you want it to be."

She grinned. "Then it absolutely is."

"Sybil Crawley. My fiancee. I could get used to that."

"Soon enough, it'll be Sybil Branson. Your wife."

* * *

 _I'm quite proud of that last scene, actually. Also, kudos to you if you caught the Hamilton reference in there (and if you didn't, go listen to Hamilton now). Thank you all so much for your support, and as always, please review! Seriously, reviews are one of the best gifts you can give a writer!_


	17. Chapter 17

The bench under the tree was their bench, really. It had seen so many moments of history between them, even before they themselves realized it.

It was their favorite place to go to.

Mary often pushed Matthew on long walks around the grounds, but they always ended up at the bench under the tree. This day was no different. A biting wind blew, reminding both of them that November was fast approaching, as was their wedding day.

Their wedding day.

The wedding would be small, of course. As soon as Mary resolved to something small, both insisted on it. Mary because she didn't want another big wedding, Matthew because he didn't want to be on display as the earl's crippled heir marrying the daughter who was supposed to be damaged goods.

What a pair they were.

But they looked so very happy.

She had pushed his chair as close to the bench as was humanly possibly, and she sat on the very edge, leaning her head against his shoulder. His arm was wrapped around her, and despite the awkward positioning, Mary was comfortable and warm.

"Are you excited for the wedding?" she murmured. If only they could stay like this forever, gazing upon the lake as if the day would never end.

He smiled. "Excited. Terrified. Enthralled that you're going to become my wife. Wishing I could be better for you."

"Matthew..."

"Are you really sure you know what you're missing out on because..."

"Matthew, I know. I...I had a child."

He was silent. He lowered his head, whispering, "Of course," regretfully.

"I understand why one would forget. God help me, I try to forget. All the time. Because it always hurts to remember. But I can't forget him. He was a life, a precious life, one that ended far too soon and I'm the only one left to remember him. To remember that cry that brought me such joy and then the silence... the silence was the worst. They were just about to bring Patrick in and then he went silent... he turned blue. He couldn't breathe. And that was all I ever knew of my son. And I was the only one who ever knew him. So I'm the one who has to remember him."

Matthew took her hand and squeezed it. "And he's so grateful that you're here to remember him."

"He lived two minutes."

"You loved him so much. Weren't those two minutes beautiful?"

Mary nodded and tried to blink back tears. She was a lady. Ladies didn't cry. "I would have traded my life for his, if I was given the chance. He deserved so much more. And now... I'll never have a chance to bring a child into the world."

"In that sense, I understand your pain," Matthew replied quietly.

"Of course," she said, the words rushing out. "I'm sorry if this is off-putting or over-sentimental or anything."

"Never, my darling."

Mary smiled through her tears. "I doubt I would have been a very good mother anyway."

"You would be... you could be an excellent mother."

"I don't believe you, but it's too bad I could never be a mother."

Matthew glanced out over the lake. "A mother does not necessarily have to be related by blood."

* * *

It felt strange to wander through the halls so freely, although of course, he wasn't so free. He really wasn't supposed to be there, except that he had been summoned. Tom didn't spend much time inside the house, and finding the small sitting room Sybil had described was a challenge.

It was lucky, then, that it was she he ran into.

"There you are," he said softly. "I couldn't find the room."

She smirked. "I figured as much. That's a good thing, Mary didn't want anyone to find us, so she chose a room we don't use much."

"Mary is going to be there?"

"If it was just me talking to you, I wouldn't have summoned you all the way up here. I would have just gone down to the garage."

"So would Mary. In fact, she has."

Sybil nodded. "Of course. Well, Matthew is going to be there too, so that might explain it better. He couldn't get down to the garage without anyone knowing."

"And secrecy is key," Tom said, annoyed.

She shot him a pointed glance. "Yes, it is. No one else can know until we're ready."

"And when will that be?" Desperation tinged his inflection. He had waited so long, he could not stand it much longer.

"That's what we're going to find out." She turned the handle of a door and it opened. "Aha!"

The little sitting room was small and dusty and Sybil wasn't sure she'd ever been in it in her life but Mary and Matthew seemed quite at home among the covered furniture and antique

decorations that Tom would guess cost more than his salary for a whole year.

"So why are we here?" Sybil asked. She sat on the edge of a couch covered in musty white cloth and motioned for Tom to sit next to her.

Mary got up and closed the door. "We're in this room because we don't want to be heard, as I explained to you. We're going to discuss your wedding."

"We're not doing anything until after the war," Sybil said, determined.

"That's for the best. But the war is ending soon."

Sybil looked to Matthew for hope. "Really?"

Matthew nodded slowly. "It looks like it really is nearly over this time. Germany has half given up already. I pray it's the end. It's gone on far too long already."

Mary reached over to squeeze Matthew's hand and Sybil felt a tug in her chest at the free display of comfort and love.

She couldn't wait until she was free to be like that with Tom.

"In that case... we certainly won't do anything until after the wedding."

"Which is in a week, so I'm not too worried," Mary replied.

Tom looked across at Sybil. "After the wedding, then? We'll elope?"

"You're not eloping." Matthew's voice was firm and hard, but he looked at Sybil with nothing but a wish of protection.

"And why shouldn't we?" Tom asked, once again feeling animosity toward this man who had been engaged to the woman he loved for so many years.

"For one, Mary and I would like to come to your wedding," Matthew said.

Sybil grinned. "Of course, how could you not..."

"I suppose you're welcome to come along with us but..." Tom eyed Matthew's chair, not derisively, but concerned.

Matthew held a hand up. "You don't have to elope. You're both of age, nothing Robert or Cora will say can legally stop you from marrying. So if they don't approve, just marry anyway But there's no need for romantic runaways. Mary and I might be able to make them see sense."

"If there's any sense to be seen in this situation," Mary murmured

Sybil's face fell.

"Look" Mary said, guilt building in her stomach. "I'm not against you. I love you, Sybil, and I'll support you in whatever you do, provided it isn't murder. But I also don't think this is the best path for you. I respect your choices, I just wish..."

"It doesn't matter what you wish," Sybil said. "I'm marrying Tom."

"And you'll announce it a few days after our wedding and we'll stand up for you," Matthew said calmly. The irony of his words had him chuckle. "Or at least, Mary will stand."

Mary squeezed his hand again. She hated his self-deprecating jokes, but at least he was finding humor in things. "I'm assuming you're going to Ireland."

"I guess... if we're not eloping, we'll go to Ireland while the banns are read and you're there long enough to become a resident and then we'll get married," Tom said.

"Will Sybil be happy there?" Mary asked.

"Would I be going if I didn't think I would be?" Sybil retorted. "I know what I'm doing Mary, and while it's nice that you're concerned, I know what I'm doing."

Mary's head bobbed slightly. Her little sister was so strong now. How had she grown like this?

This was real. Sybil was leaving. Both of them were getting married. Their lives would not be as they expected them to be when they were young. Everything had changed.

But maybe this change was for the better.

* * *

He hadn't been in Crawley House in ages. It had no downstairs bedrooms, so he couldn't live there, and it was more trouble than it was worth to try to get there, but here he was, in his own sitting room.

It was the night before his wedding.

He wasn't allowed to see the bride.

"How are you feeling about everything?" Isobel asked, handing him a cup of tea and sitting down across from him. It very nearly felt like old times, just him and his mother sitting and talking in the drawing room after a nice quiet dinner away from the big house.

Maybe the big house didn't appeal to him so much. But he missed Mary already.

"I'm excited," Matthew said quietly. It wasn't particularly convincing.

Isobel immediately picked up on his hesitance. "Is there something wrong?"

"I just..." he looked down at his lap and his shoulders dropped as if some weight had been placed on them. "I don't know if what I'm doing is right. Am I stealing her life away? She says she had none coming, but I don't believe that. She's still young, she's beautiful, she has all the charms to attract any suitor that might come her way and yet she says she has no prospects. So that's it. I'm here to take away any other chance she might have at happiness?"

Isobel sighed deeply and came over to the other side of the room, seating herself beside Matthew's chair and taking his hands. "You are not stealing away her life."

"She..."

"Shh, I don't want to hear a word of it. Mary loves you. I've seen it. And from what you've told me, she's loved you for a very long time."

Matthew sighed. "Then why now?"

"Mary resigned herself to an unrequited love, just as you resigned yourself to one that was impossible. You were going to marry Sybil. And then the war happened and changed everything and..."

"And now I'm crippled and I can't..."

Isobel once again interrupted him. "Matthew, I don't want to hear that. Mary saw an opportunity in what happened. She saw the good in the war, and in your injury, and how it could bring you together. And she was very brave to act on it."

"I wondered why she made her move when..."

"She loves you, Matthew. She isn't marrying you out of pity or out of want for Downton or anything like that. She never acted on it before because she couldn't, not without hurting Sybil."

Matthew nodded. "How did I get so lucky? To have her?" He was nearly on the verge of tears.

Isobel stroked his hair gently. "I'm so glad. I'm so very glad. She loves you and you love her and tomorrow will be bliss for the both of you."

"But it never would have happened if it wasn't for the war," Matthew pondered.

"Maybe not."

He allowed himself to smile slightly. "So something good did come out of that hell."

"Something good can always come out of something evil.

He leaned his head back and sighed heavily. "I'm nervous, as well. We didn't invite very many people, but however many strangers are there, in a way I'll feel like I'm... on display, so to speak. And of course I'm willing to put up with it for Mary's sake, but it still makes me uncomfortable."

"If those people see anything other than a young man who sacrificed everything fighting for king and country, then they would be wrong. They don't matter. Tomorrow is about you and Mary."

"Of course, it's just..."

Isobel patted his hand. "What?"

"Nothing. I'm quite tired, actually. Mary said she'll have gone to bed by this time, could you maybe call for the car?"

"Of course, my darling," Isobel said.

Matthew slumped in his seat in exhaustion and fear.

* * *

When Sybil came into Mary's room, her eyes were immediately drawn to the simple but elegant cream dress laid across the chaise lounge. "Your dress looks lovely," she said.

Mary was less put together than usual; her hair was frizzy and not in its usual braid, and her dressing gown was falling off of her shoulders as she sat on her bed. She breathed heavily and held herself.

"Are you alright?" Sybil asked.

"Yes, just a bit..."

"Nervous."

"Yes." Mary closed her eyes and sighed. "I mean, I shouldn't be, we've known each other for ages but what if he..."

Sybil frowned. "Mary..."

"What if he doesn't feel the same way I do? I know he said it, but I proposed that he propose to me... Maybe he thought it was more like an arrangement than anything else. What if he thinks I'm marrying him out of pity or duty?"

"You're certainly not."

Mary pulled her dressing gown onto her shoulders. "You might know that, but I don't know if he does. I've loved him for so long Sybil... it's hard to know when it started, and it's even harder to know if he loves me back."

"He does," Sybil said with confidence. "I was engaged to him. He talked about you an awful lot for a man engaged to me."

Mary allowed herself to laugh. "I don't know what I did to deserve a man like him. But still... I can't be sure."

"Then talk to him," Sybil said. "Once he gets back from Isobel's, talk to him."

"I can't. The groom isn't allowed to see the bride before the wedding."

Sybil grinned. "That's what doors were made for."

* * *

The sound of a fist on hard wood roused Matthew from his half sleep. He groaned and called out, "Yes?"

No response.

"Come in," he continued.

"I can't. You aren't allowed to see me."

He almost laughed. "Mary? Is there something..."

"No, there's nothing wrong. At least, as far as I know."

"Then why..."

He could hear a frustrated sigh from the other side of the door. "I just need to say something. To ...clear something with you. Most people seem to think I'm marrying you out of pity or duty or because I have no other prospects, and while it may be true that I have no prospects, that is not at all why I'm marrying you. Or why I even gave you the idea."

"Mary, I never..."

"And I know the timing may seem strange and all that and of course you're wondering why I never tried for anything before you were injured."

Matthew shook his head. "I know. Because of Sybil."

"I feel like I seem opportunistic in this situation... and if you feel I was that way, you should say so. It was never my intention in the least."

"Nor did I ever think it was."

"I just wanted it...I just wanted to be married to you so badly... because I love you. And I hope you know that."

Matthew wiped away a tear that was threatening to spill. "Of course I do."

"If anything every seemed manipulative or opportunistic or anything like that... I really hope it didn't. I've been doubting myself over this all day. It might be nerves, but I wanted to clear that up. I'm marrying you because I love you and while I couldn't before, because I thought my sister would be happy with you, I saw the chance and I took it and I'm so thrilled to be married to you but of course I'm also terrified. Just know, I love you."

"My darling, it is the same reason why I am marrying you. And I know, there was no opportunity to be found in me. Any woman wanting to marry a cripple must be wholly dedicated. I know it isn't halfhearted. And I love you, so very much." He pushed himself up further in his bed. "Can I kiss you? Because I need to. Very much."

"You aren't allowed to see me," Mary replied.

He smirked. "I'm not allowed to see you, but who says anything about you seeing me? I'll close my eyes."

"I like your logic," Mary said quietly.

She opened the door and saw him in bed, his eyes closed. He looked weak and helpless in his position, but also so very handsome, and her heart beat heavily in her chest as she tiptoed over to the bed and leaned over. She kissed his lips softly and caressed his cheek, leaving him with a smile.

"Goodnight," she whispered, kissing his forehead for good measure.

"Goodnight."

* * *

He was shaking.

His hands were shaking and for a second, Isobel almost thought his legs were shaking. It was her mind playing tricks on her, of course. She wondered if it was just typical groom's nerves, or if the war had caused her son to be so shaky.

"Matthew?"

He offered an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. Just a little nervous."

"She'll turn up," Isobel said.

"That's not what I'm nervous for," he replied.

Isobel found it best not to question him any further.

Sybil barely gave any warning before flying into the drawing room where Matthew and Isobel were waiting to go to the church. "Matthew! Are you ready?"

"I suppose so," he murmured.

"Mary looks beautiful, although soon enough you'll be able to see for yourself."

"Mary always looks beautiful, so that doesn't come as a surprise," Matthew replied. He had to pinch himself. Today was the day, and he was so lucky to be here, and to be marrying Mary.

Isobel stood and squeezed her son's shoulder. "I'm going to see if the car is almost ready."

Sybil and Matthew were alone.

"I'm so happy for you, Matthew," Sybil said, taking his hands in hers.

"It would have been us," he said thoughtfully.

Sybil raised an eyebrow. "Would it really ever have been, though? Do you think we would have gone through with it?"

"I wouldn't put it past you to jilt me," Matthew joked.

"I am too much of a lady for that," Sybil replied, with fake indigence. "I would have had the grace to run away in the middle of the night before, at least."

Matthew's face turned serious. "Are you glad things turned out the way they did?"

"Absolutely," Sybil said. "I love you as a brother, Matthew, but I'm so glad to be with Tom. And I'm so glad you're with Mary. She loves you so much."

"I know," he choked.

"Are you ready?"

He nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Sybil."

"For what?"

"For supporting me. Through everything, especially this... awful time. And for being so gracious with Mary. It must be odd to have your former fiancé marry your sister."

Sybil shrugged. "We had no choice in our engagement."

"No. But friendship was our choice."

She took his hand again. "Friendship is our choice."

* * *

Mary could barely breathe as she stepped out of the car in front of the church. A biting wind hit her, but she didn't feel it.

She was afraid, but she was glowing.

Her father stepped out beside her. "Are you ready, my darling?"

She nodded. "I'm ready. How about you?"

"I'll admit, this would never have been what I expected from you," Robert said. "But I'm so very happy things have worked out for you in the end."

Mary smiled. "That's all I need to hear."

Robert took Mary's arm gently and led her up the steps.

The doors were opened.

The church was nicely full; not packed, but not empty. Full of friends and family and people who really cared. But Mary could not look for anyone in the audience. Instead, she was gazing straight ahead to see Matthew.

He was sitting up tall and Mary could tell that the day was already starting to take a toll on him. He would never admit it to her, of course, and her heart broke all over again every time she saw his shoulders beginning to slump.

But he was sitting up as tall as possible, for her.

Most people didn't see it, but Matthew was so strong, and Mary admired him so much for it. She loved him so much for it.

And she would help him stay strong, just as he would help her.

What a long way they had come.

What a way they had to go.

Mary tried not to tear up.

This was so different from anything she had ever expected, and so much better.

She finally reached the front, and her father gently released her arm, allowing Matthew to take her hand in his.

He surveyed her and couldn't hold back a grin. "Are you ready?"

"I always have been," she replied.

She was shaky during the ceremony, at least inside, but she managed to keep her voice and movements steady. Matthew did not, but she couldn't care less.

Mary practically collapsed into his lap when the bishop allowed them to kiss, and maybe there were cheers, but to Mary, it was absolutely silent.

It was just her and Matthew.

* * *

It was just her and Matthew.

Anna had left her, in a rather shocking nightgown given to her by Granny of all people, and a light dressing gown. It was really too cold for such garments, but it was her wedding night.

Matthew was already in bed, disappointingly covered up, although Mary figured she could change that. He looked exhausted, but excited.

"I never thought we'd share a bed," he murmured.

"You mean, when we thought we'd have no chance of getting married?"

He shook his head. "Until you brought me to this suite of rooms and came into this room ready for bed. I didn't think you'd want to share with me."

"Why not?"

"Mary, I..."

She held up a hand. "I don't want to hear you say anything bad about yourself, so if that was your intention, don't."

He shut his mouth.

"Matthew, this is a new beginning."

With their wedding had come the announcement of the end of the war in a few days. It had been such a contrast to that dreadful garden party where war had been announced and they had nearly fallen apart; here, they were put back together and the war that had broken them was ending.

They were both broken, but they were glued back together.

"I know," he whispered. "I'm so grateful for this... for it all."

She dropped her dressing gown off of her shoulders, and Matthew couldn't help but gaze at her lovingly. "Let's see what we can do about there pajamas," Mary said, climbing onto the bed."

"Mary..." he protested.

"I don't care."

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, it's just... I'm so broken. You can't want to see that, it's just..."

"I guess tonight is about putting both of us back together," Mary replied, leaning onto his chest. "Tell me if anything hurts."

"Everything," he whispered. "It's been a long day."

"I happen to know just the trick. Roll over."

"What?"

Mary rolled her eyes. "Roll over. Do you want me to help you?"

He stubbornly shifted by himself onto his stomach, wincing as he did so.

"Your mother taught me something that I haven't had the chance to put into use," Mary said, and she began to rub his back. "Feel any better?"

Matthew murmured in agreement.

"Good. See, tonight is about putting you... about putting us back together."

* * *

The stars were bright, the sky clear, and Sybil and Tom sat on a bench right outside the garage, their backs against the wall, hands entwined.

"Think Lady Mary and Mr. Matthew are doing well?" Tom asked.

Sybil smiled. "I'm sure. They'll figure it out."

"The wedding was lovely."

"And the war is nearly over, which made it even more lovely."

Tom gazed up at the sky. "I can't support you if I don't have a job."

"What brought this up?"

He shrugged. "I've applied to a couple of newspapers for a journalism job. One turned me down. Another few have put me on hold, basically. I don't know. And I might not know for another month. And I don't want to take you to Ireland when there's no way for us to survive, especially if you father cuts you off. But I don't want to use all your money, either. That isn't why I'm marrying you."

"I know."

"Are you willing to wait?"

Sybil squeezed his hand tightly. "You've waited for me for years. I can wait a few months. I understand your hesitance. But with every day, I just keep wanting more and more to get away from this life, to go and spend it with you. But I can wait."

"I love you, Sybil Crawley."

"And I love you too."

* * *

"I love you, Mary Crawley."

"And I love you too."

She lay snuggled on Matthew's chest, warm and elated and so very happy. No, it wasn't everything she had with Patrick. But it was also much more intimate and real and loving and to Mary's mind, it was perfect.

"I wish I could give you..."

"No. You've given me enough."

Matthew leaned up to kiss the top of her head. "I must be the luckiest man alive right now."

Mary's heart clenched at the thought of Matthew, who had suffered so much and been given so little, thinking of himself as the luckiest.

"You're sure?"

"At least the happiest man," he whispered. "And you?"

"I'm the happiest woman."

Matthew smiled and yawned.

"Is it already time to sleep?" Mary asked.

"Sleep now," Matthew whispered. "We have all the time in the world tomorrow."

* * *

 _I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for reading and supporting this story! As always, please review. I know I say this every time, but I can't understate how much I love getting reviews. :)_


	18. Chapter 18

The clock struck, eleven times, the sound seemingly absorbed in the heavy silence that filled the hall.

The war was over.

The weight of the moment laid heavily on Matthew. He felt comforted by Mary's hand resting gently on his shoulder, but it was hard not to shudder with the memory of years gone past, of lives lost and minds lost and all the things he had lost...

Mary's hand reminded him of what he had gained.

He tried to steady himself with that thought, but his mind kept slipping back to the trenches. Back to the mud and the stench and the dead bodies and the cries of those whose wounds would kill them within the hour and...

A gentle squeeze brought him back.

He lifted his hand to hers in acknowledgement.

He was here, he was alive, and he had her. Could a man really ask for more?

Of course he could, but he would not let his mind go to those deep recesses. He'd suffered far too much depression recently, and there was nothing he wanted more than to put it all behind him.

Robert began to make a speech about the end of the war but Matthew didn't listen. He couldn't. Robert meant well, but he didn't know. The speech contained words like patriotism and honor and things he couldn't listen to because they weren't true. There was no honor in sitting in a trench for hours and freezing to death. There was no honor in death for an abstract, unachievable ideal. Robert hadn't been in the trenches. He didn't know.

When the speech was over, Matthew glanced up at Mary. "Could we go to the library?" he asked.

"Of course," Mary replied, without questioning him. She pushed his chair to the library and Sybil followed, unsure what else to do.

When they entered the room, Matthew rolled up next to one of the couches and muttered, "I need a drink."

"It isn't even luncheon yet," Mary remarked.

Sybil laughed. "Mary, this is not a world for such propriety."

"I just can't listen to all of it," Matthew said, leaning his head back. "He means well, but this is so much more difficult than all of that."

Mary raised an eyebrow. "Hmm?"

"I know today is supposed to be happy. We're supposed to celebrate that the war is over, and that our lives can go back to normal. Except there's two issues with that. The war shouldn't have happened in the first place, really. It was fought for terrible reasons and there was no honor in that. It shouldn't have happened, and so much was lost because it did. How many people lost their lives? How many lost husbands, fathers, sons, brothers, friends? How many lost everything? It took too much to ever be truly over. What is normal anymore, now that it's over? I don't know what normal is supposed to be for me. Someday I'll find it, but first, I have to stop startling at every loud noise and slipping back there whenever I think about it too much. It's just... it's never over."

Sybil tilted her head. "You do need that drink. Good thing we reduced your medication."

Mary knelt next to him and took his hands. "You're alright?"

"Just... it's a difficult day."

Mary didn't know what else to say.

* * *

It was just their luck that the night after the armistice was stormy.

Mary woke up, hearing quiet whimpers against the background of a thundering sky.

She propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at her husband, who seemed in a state between sleep and wakefulness. "Matthew," she whispered. "Matthew..."

He was dreaming.

His whimpers increased and decreased and she could make out words in the nonsense he was mumbling; her name was quite often mixed in there.

Another crack of thunder, and the whimpers increased.

Mary wanted to cry, for all the pain the war had brought on him, but now she was here. She could help him.

He wouldn't wake.

She kept calling his name softly, her voice growing stronger with each repetition. But she got no response. She shook his shoulder as gently as possible. Still no response. More violent shaking didn't do anything either, and Mary was reluctant to do anything else physical.

She was running out of ideas.

She shuffled back under the covers, rolled onto her stomach, and kissed him.

He calmed immediately.

His eyes fluttered open and he woke with a start in the bed, disoriented and so afraid.

"Mary?" he rasped.

"I'm here, I'm here," she replied, reaching up to play with his hair. "Were you dreaming?"

He nodded and swallowed to try and hold tears back. "I just can't stop thinking about the war, and obviously it's seeping into my sleep too. And I'm sure the thunder didn't help and I'm sorry, did I wake you? Maybe I should sleep in my dressing room tomorrow night."

Mary shook her head. "No, of course not. I'm here for you, and I'll always be here for you."

He blinked back more tears. "Mary, you don't..."

"You're my husband. And you need me right now, and right here is exactly where I'll be. So right now the question is how do we keep these dreams from happening again, because obviously they're no fun for you."

Matthew tried to smile. "They don't seem to be any fun for you either."

"No, but I'm sure they're worse for you. And besides, if you're awake at night, there's more chance for me to do this." She pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

"Now there's a reason to wake up," Matthew murmured.

Mary pushed a rebellious forelock off of his forehead. "Can you go back to sleep?"

"I think I might rather kiss you," Matthew said "Thunder sounds like guns and explosions... but you're here."

"That's not real anymore, my darling. I'm real."

"I know," he whispered, pushing himself up as best he could. "And I'm so lucky that you are."

* * *

Every day, Sybil invented an excuse. It was getting harder and harder to sneak down to the garage with the buzz of the convalescent home lessening over months and months after the war.

By March, it was completely gone.

By March, Sybil was running short on excuses.

By March, Tom had gotten five letters back from Dublin.

Four were scathing and cold and provided him with nothing.

One gave him hope.

Sybil crept down the stairs on a bright March morning, under the guise of looking for a bracelet left during her last ride in the car. She didn't run into anyone on this trip; she often did, and her heart beat heavily as she wondered if this would be the trip where they were found out.

The wind was fairly strong and as she stepped across the cobbled driveway, strands of hair began to come undone and blow in her face.

Tom looked up from a letter as she entered, his cheeks ruddy and his smile bigger than usual.

"What is it?" Sybil inquired, noticing the change immediately.

"I got a job!" he said. "It pays well, full time, at a newspaper I like, and I'm just so relieved that after months of waiting, I finally have an opportunity!"

Sybil grinned and rushed into his arms, staying like that. She took all of him in; his warmth, his strength, the smell of metal and smoke and cinnamon. Their lives would finally be able to move forward.

She tilted her head to kiss his lips.

"I love you," he whispered.

Sybil reaffirmed him. "We'll have to tell Mary and Matthew. And soon. Before we tell Mama and Papa."

"Oh Lord, must we tell your parents?" Tom moaned.

"Yes, we must," Sybil said. "But they can't stop us. I'm legally old enough to marry without their permission, and since we have the support of Mary and Matthew, there's no way they can possibly stop us."

Tom nodded. "Anything to be with you."

"Anything."

* * *

Mary sat on the edge of the bed, watching carefully as Matthew shifted himself from his chair to the bed, a fairly recently acquired skill. It pleased him, but Mary eyed him with concern every time he completed the motion.

He was successful, but his face was pinched in pain and he was groaning.

"Matthew?" Mary asked, concerned.

He shook his head and pushed himself up against the pillows on the bed. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine," Mary said, pulling herself up on the bed next to him.

"I've been going harder on my exercises I suppose," he said, with irritation.

He was breathing heavily and his skin was pale but his cheeks were flushed.

"Matthew..."

"So Sybil and Tom are announcing everything to the family tomorrow?" Matthew asked.

Mary wasn't thrilled that he was changing the subject, but they did need to discuss the imminent fallout from Sybil and Tom's announcement. "Yes. He'll come by the drawing room before dinner, Sybil will meet him outside, and they'll come in together. They want us to defend them, but I'd prefer it if we do without giving away how long we've known."

"Ah, you want to avoid the wrath of your parents," Matthew said, with a raised eyebrow.

"Wouldn't you rather?"

Matthew conceded. "I suppose. But of course, I can just say I support Sybil no matter what. And I do. I want her to find happiness."

Mary screwed up her face in an imitation of her father. "Even if that happiness is with the chauffeur?"

"If that's what makes Sybil happy, and knowing Sybil, I believe it will, then yes, happiness with the chauffeur sounds acceptable and feasible and I don't want Robert to ruin this second chance at happiness that she's been given."

She reached over and took his hand. "Sybil would have been happy with you, you know."

"Maybe once. Maybe before we realized what love really was." Matthew cast a look of derision at his legs. "But certainly not like this."

"I'm happy with you. So very happy. Even 'like this'," Mary said, in mockery of his self-deprecation.

"Sometimes I still can't believe it."

"Believe it," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "But of course I'd be happier if you told me what was going on."

Matthew shook his head. "No, you're just worried unnecessarily. There's nothing going on."

"I still don't believe you."

He leaned over to her, trying to disguise his wince as he did so, and kissed her. "Will that convince you?"

"No," Mary replied stubbornly. "However, you might try again to see if it works."

* * *

Her dress was carefully chosen; it was one of her older ones, simple yet mature. Maybe it would show her parents that she was old enough to decide for herself, and that she was prepared to live a very different life than the one she had grown up in.

It was silly, maybe, to overthink her dress choice like this, but Sybil wanted everything to go as well as possible.

She would have half the room on her side, she reminded herself. Matthew and Mary had and would continue to support her, and she was fairly certain that Isobel would support her as well. That left Mama, Papa, and Granny.

Papa would protest. Sybil didn't even have to question herself on that score. Papa would certainly protest the idea of his youngest running off the with chauffeur.

Mama probably wouldn't be too thrilled either. After all, she spent her life trying to find matches for her daughters, and her youngest was going to run off with a servant?

And then there was Granny. Granny was a bit of a wild card. On one hand, she was traditional. Very traditional. Sybil could hear her grandmother asking what the world had come to. But on the other hand, she was fiercely supportive of her granddaughters. Somehow, Sybil had an inkling that her grandmother might support her no matter what.

It wasn't Sybil against the world.

It wasn't even Sybil and Tom against the world.

It would be Sybil and Tom and all those who loved them most being their strongest to let two people who loved each other be together.

She was not alone.

* * *

He looked even worse than he had the night before. He was extremely pale, every movement seemed to take effort, his cheeks were flushed an unnatural pink, his voice was raspy, and he kept coughing.

Mary knew for certain that he wasn't well.

But he wouldn't listen to sense.

"Are you sure you want to go to dinner? I can make your excuses," Mary said, as she fastened her earrings.

"I have to be there for Sybil and Tom," Matthew said. To her pointed look in the mirror, he added, "Besides, I'm feeling fine."

"You know how dangerous it can be for you to be sick," Mary warned.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Good thing I'm not then."

"Are you..."

"Look, if it makes you feel any better, I'll sleep in tomorrow or something," Matthew said. He looked at his lap. He had planned to work on files; he had reached a sort of retainer agreement with his old firm so that he could work from home. But tomorrow would not be that day. "I won't even work at all."

Mary sighed. "I just don't want you to be ill, that's all."

"I'll hold up for this dinner. How bad can it be?"

"Considering the news Sybil is about to break, it might be pretty bad," Mary warned.

"Then we'll just have to brave the storm together."

* * *

With every moment that passed in the drawing room Mary regretted allowing Matthew to come more and more. Apparently Carson had taken ill earlier and Molesley had come up to serve dinner. But what if Matthew had the same illness that Carson did? Mary kept stealing glances over at her husband, who was trying to look stoic. She could easily tell that he wasn't well.

Her worries, however, were distracted by a bigger issue.

A hesitant, squeaking door opened.

Sybil stepped inside.

Tom was behind her.

Robert's face was first puzzled in confusion, but as Sybil took Tom's hand, his eyes narrowed and his face grew red.

"Papa, Mama, everyone. You all know Tom Branson, of course. But you probably don't know that I love him. Desperately. And we're going to get married."

Robert's eyes grew even narrower. "What?"

"You heard what I said, Papa," Sybil challenged.

Cora gasped. "Sybil, you can't! How could you?"

"Tom and I have known each other for a long time. And for a long time, we had a friendship that was more than that of servant and master. We were genuinely friends. And then he admitted that he loved me. It took me a long time to realize that I loved him, too. But I do. I love him. And we're going to get married, no matter what you saw."

"How long has this been going on?" Robert sputtered.

"A long time," Tom said bravely. "I thought she was a lovely young woman when I first met her, and as I got to know her, I learned that she was not only that, but so much more. And that's when I started to fall. I was pretty transparent, but I was patient. And eventually, our friendship became something deeper."

Robert threw a dark glare at Tom, and then turned his anger to Sybil. "So this went on while you were engaged to Matthew?"

Sybil nodded. "Yes."

"Sybil, we raised you better than this, didn't we? How dare you go behind my back, scheming and plotting and betraying to marry the chauffeur of all people and..."

Matthew pushed his chair forward. "Robert. I know. I've known for a while."

"And this is what caused your engagement to dissolve?"

He shook his head and smiled at Sybil. "No, that was more to do with my incapabilities. But the truth is, Sybil isn't the only one in our relationship that was looking elsewhere."

Robert's anger became directed toward Matthew. "What?"

"Mary and I... we had a sort of strained relationship." He glanced across at his wife, who seems nervous, but determined to see the story shared. "We started with a friendship, but it eventually turned into love and attraction which we tried to resist, but eventually we couldn't. We never did anything unseemly; we hardly touched at all. But there were feelings there. So I have no hard feelings toward Sybil at all."

"You support her."

Matthew nodded and sent a smile across the room. "I do. I support Sybil and Tom and I'm so glad she's able to find happiness with the one she loves as I have done."

This, unfortunately, did nothing to ease the situation. It only made Robert more angry. "Branson!" he shouted, turning on his heel. "Leave this house. Now."

"Papa!" Sybil cried, squeezing Tom's hand.

"Perhaps it would be best if you left the village," Robert said.

"Then I will leave the village with your daughter by my side," Tom said, and strolled out. "Sybil," he whispered, "I will be staying at the Grantham Arms."

Sybil nodded and sat down in the drawing room.

"As for you..." Robert began.

Sybil shook her head. "Nothing you can say will stop me. I've made my choice. I don't care if you won't give me any money. I don't want it. I don't care if I'm not popular in London anymore. I don't want it. You've tried to steal true, deep love from me before. This time, I'm never giving it back."

Violet chuckled. "You can tell she's a Crawley by the stubbornness."

"Mama, that is not helpful," Robert said, his voice low.

"You won't convince her otherwise," Violet warned. Robert just turned away from his mother.

Molesley entered to announce dinner.

As Matthew began to wheel himself out of the room, he began to feel terribly fatigued. He didn't want to worry Mary, but he knew he would end up worrying her more if he did something at dinner. He tapped her to get her attention.

"What is it?" she asked, leaning down toward him.

"I think I'm going to go back to my room. I'm terribly tired, and I'm not quite up to facing the wrath of your father," he whispered.

Mary nodded. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"I'll be fine. I'll ring for Bates and he can help me get to bed," Matthew said.

She squeezed his shoulder and allowed him to move toward their rooms.

He pushed open the door to their room and moved his chair up next to the bed. It was a simple maneuver, he'd done it successfully many of times, but he was tired and feverish and he could feel his arms give out as he tried to move to the bed.

The floor was cold.

* * *

There was a strained silence in the drawing room, enforced by Robert's constant glare at Sybil. Mary tried to ignore her own worries, and so she focused on the irritating sound of forks scratching on plates. It was surely one of the worst dinners she had ever attended, and she almost felt jealous of Matthew.

Sybil stared at her plate. She didn't take much food at all. She wasn't hungry. She didn't care.

Robert had barely eaten either.

"Papa, it's a lost cause," Sybil said.

Half of the forks in the room clattered to the plates.

"If you break all ties with me, very well then. But it's your own loss. Tom and I will be happy to extend friendship to anyone who wishes it," Sybil continued. "There's nothing at all you can do to stop me. All you can decide is how you respond."

Mary watched her little sister with a critical eye. Sybil could certainly be manipulative when she wanted to be; that trait seemed to run in the Crawley women.

Robert's face was growing red. "You don't make it easy."

"Why? Because I'm not marrying some cad you want me to, like Larry Grey or..."

"Or Matthew," Robert growled.

Mary was about to take offense, but Sybil got to him first.

"Why is this an issue in any way? I was going to marry Matthew. We were going to announce the engagement, but then the war started and..."

"Suddenly the question of marriage wasn't important," Robert interjected

Sybil shook her head. "None of this is Matthew's fault at all. We figured out early on that we would work well together, but there was just no passion. No spark of anything. And I'm so glad Mary got to have that with him."

"You were unfaithful to him."

"I never even said anything to Tom about how I loved him until Matthew and I broke our engagement! Papa, rag on me all you want but none of this is infidelity."

Robert's face was growing even redder. "If you had just done what you were supposed to and married Matthew, then..."

"Papa!" Mary's voice was cold. "This is not under your control. This is not under Mama's control. Or at least, it shouldn't be. I know what hell an arranged marriage can be. While I am certain a union between Sybil and Matthew would not have been nearly that, it isn't fair to force this on her. Maybe it was reasonable in ancient times when daughters were just chips for bargaining, but we're past that as a society. We can think for ourselves and live a life that we truly want to live. Is that so wrong?"

"The point is, Sybil is planning to marry the chauffeur."

Mary's eyes locked with her father's. "And I married the paralyzed solicitor." She pushed her chair back. "Excuse me."

"If you'll excuse me as well, I'm feeling slightly ill," Cora said.

Was it the flu they had heard such horrific tales of, or was it the uncomfortable conversation?

Isobel hurried off to nurse, and it was Sybil and Robert and Violet alone at the table.

They finished their meal in complete silence.

"You really love him?" Robert asked quietly, as the plates were cleared away.

"I do."

"Is that really enough?"

"It should be."

* * *

Mary may have agreed with her father as far as his argument- she didn't really want her little sister to throw everything away and marry the chauffeur- but she had to disagree with him on principle. She had to stand up for Sybil. Even if Mary couldn't see how this would make Sybil happy, Sybil deserved this happiness.

Anger simmered over her, but she took a deep breath before knocking on the door to her and Matthew's room.

No response.

Maybe he was sleeping. That wouldn't be a bad thing. He needed it.

She opened the door as quietly as possible.

He wasn't in bed.

He was lying, jumbled in a heap on the floor, looking pale and ill and awful, and Mary's heart skipped a beat or maybe a few. His chair sat next to the bed; he had tried to transfer himself to the bed.

She knelt down next to his and first checked for a pulse and breath. His breathing seemed labored, but it was there, and his pulse was still fairly strong. He was warm though, unnaturally so, and unintelligible speech was escaping from his mouth.

"Matthew," she whispered, her face close to his. She didn't care in the least if she got ill. But for him, it was far more dangerous.

"Hmm..." he responded, reaching out toward her. "I fell."

He was responding. That was good. He looked very uncomfortable, and Mary got her hands under him the best she could in order to help him sit up. He wasn't as heavy as she was expecting; his legs seemed almost stick thin. She managed to sit up with her legs wrapped around him, his torso leaning on her chest and his head on her shoulder.

"I don't want to leave you here, but I have to call for someone," Mary said, raising one hand to stroke through his hair. "I can't get you into bed by myself, and you really need a doctor." She tried to pull out from behind him, but he had gripped one of her wrists with surprising strength.

"Don't leave," he whispered.

He began to cough violently.

Mary help him upright through all of it, and when he was at last done, he leaned back in her arms, weak and exhausted.

"Shh..." she whispered, and tried to pull out from behind him again. She helped him lie down more comfortably on the floor and then rushed to the bell pull.

As soon as she rang, she hurried back to Matthew and helped him sit up again, and just in time, because his coughing returned.

Each wheeze seemed to break Mary's heart more. Isobel had warned her about how sickness would affect Matthew, about how he was far more vulnerable and how he was far more likely to die from a simple thing.

Like the flu.

The Spanish Flu.

The flu that was passes throughout the country, and now in their village, and was killing so many.

The flu that had killed hundreds of thousands of strong, abled soldiers.

Matthew, compared to them, had almost no chance.

She could lose him. The reality hit her, and she squeezed him even tighter, placing a hand on his chest just so she could feel his heartbeat and know that, at least for now, she had him.

It was Thomas Barrow who found them; Bates had been busy attending to Robert and so Thomas, trying to get back into the good graces of the household, offered to answer the bell. Those downstairs were surprised, but did not stop them from allowing him to respond.

He wasn't certain what he expected when he opened the door to the bedroom of Mary and Matthew Crawley, but it certainly wasn't what he saw.

He had always seen Mary Crawley as a cold woman, incapable of outward emotion. In that way, she was not so different from himself.

But here she was, on the floor, holding her crippled husband and silently sobbing, her hands running through his hair. Matthew looked very ill, and Thomas felt terrible; Matthew had saved him, he certainly didn't deserve to have this happen to him. He didn't deserve any of what he had been through.

As the door opened, Mary looked up and tried to wipe her tears, but Thomas had already taken it all in.

"What happened, milady?"

Mary didn't move. "He said he was feeling ill right before dinner, and he wanted to come back to rest. I think he fell trying to get onto the bed. He was lying there for more than an hour, and he's just gotten so much worse. I can't get him in bed by myself."

Thomas immediately came over. "Would you like my help?"

"Yes, most definitely," she replied. "And then we need to get a doctor."

Thomas bent down and with surprisingly little effort, took Matthew into his arms and lifted him onto the bed. "I believe Doctor Clarkson is coming for Her Ladyship and Mr. Carson, but when he comes I'll tell him to check here first."

Mary nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Thomas."

For a moment, Thomas simply stood there, watching as Mary tucked Matthew under the covers and laid a hand on his forehead.

"Is there something else you need?" she asked.

"I hope he gets well, I genuinely do," Thomas said.

Mary nodded. "Thank you. I'm hoping and praying, but..."

"He saved my life."

Her eyes flicked to Thomas's.

"It was in the trenches. I was holding up a lighter, as a sort of enticement for the Germans. I wanted to get away from the front lines. It's technically against the law because it is considered cowardice, and were I caught, I would be dead right now. But Mr. Crawley was the first to find me, and he realized what I did, but instead of reporting me, he made it look as if it were an accident. He saved me from my own foolishness."

Mary tried to give Thomas a gentle smile. "He does that."

* * *

Mary hadn't left Matthew's side at all when Clarkson came in, looking serious and exhausted. The flu was taking its toll on the whole village.

It only took him a few minutes to pronounce that Matthew, too, had the flu. His expression was grim; Mary was almost afraid to ask what it meant.

"Will he be alright?" Isobel asked. As soon as she had heard about her son's illness, she had rushed to his bedroom. She knew the answer already, but she needed some sort of confirmation.

"I don't know," Clarkson admitted. "He's far more vulnerable to this than the others. The odd things about this flu though is that it hasn't been killing the weak so much as it's been killing the strong."

Mary nodded. "What does that mean?"

"It seems pretty bad right now, and I don't like to be too optimistic, but if he fights he has a chance. If he gets through tonight, the worst should be over for him."

And thus began what felt like the longest night of Mary's life.

She heard from her father that her mother was ill as well, and Mary would have gone up to see her, but she was afraid. Afraid that if she left Matthew's side, he might suddenly get more ill, or worse... Mary didn't like to think of the worst possibilities, but she also had to be with Matthew in case the worst happened.

Isobel was given a guest bedroom a few rooms down, and at about two in the morning, when Matthew seemed to be doing better, she allowed herself to go get a few hours of sleep, instructing Mary to fetch her if he got worse again.

Mary couldn't sleep. She sat on her side of the bed, her eyes completely trained on her husband. It felt like hours as she held her breath at every labored breath of his, stared without blinking as he coughed in fear that he would slip away at any moment, and kept her hand in his sweaty one the entire time.

He tried to toss and turn, but his body wouldn't let him. Any time he tried, he winced, and attempted to go on the other side. It was a vicious cycle, and Mary was certain that every movement was going to cause him more pain when he woke up.

When. It couldn't be an if. Were it an if, Mary couldn't make it through. Matthew had to wake up. He had to recover. She would make sure of it.

Still, her heart wouldn't stop pounding every time he choked on his own breath.

* * *

It was nearing morning, and Sybil's eyes were bleary. She was absolutely exhausted, tirelessly nursing her mother. Eventually, Edith, who had arrived late that night, had convinced her to take a break and get some sleep. Cora was sleeping peacefully, and Sybil reluctantly agreed.

But sleep was not first on her agenda.

She had never been in the chauffeur's cottage; her conversations with Tom had always been in the garage. But the light was on inside the tiny cottage, and she knew he was in there. She knew he was packing up the remnants of an old life, and he was packing to start a new life with her.

She knocked.

Maybe she didn't need to knock, but she did anyway. They were not together yet.

"Sybil!" he said, almost breathless as he opened the door.

She stepped into the cottage. "You've packed quickly," she said, glancing at the few boxes and bags scattered around the room.

"Are you packed?"

A laugh escaped her lips. "I have no idea what to bring," she admitted. "I don't think my evening clothes are quite suitable for Dublin. None of it really is. But maybe I'll sell some of my nicer dresses and have more practical ones made."

"You don't have to..."

"I want to fit in," Sybil said defiantly. "I don't want to make any sort of uproar. I'm just coming back as your fiancee. And soon I will be your wife. But don't worry, I will bring my harem pants."

Tom smirked. "That's my favorite outfit of yours."

"I know," Sybil replied, stepping closer to him.

The tension was so thick between them, their eyes interlocking, their hands reaching toward each other's bodies.

Sybil stopped herself just in time. "I can't," she said. "We can't do anything tonight. We can kiss, if you'd like, but that's it. Nothing else until we're married."

"Of course," Tom said. "So nothing your father said talked you out of it?"

"Nothing he could ever say would do that," Sybil said. "I've made up my mind and I won't change it."

Tom nodded slowly. "So this is really happening."

"Yes," Sybil said, giving a giddy, almost childlike laugh.

"Can I kiss you?"

Sybil didn't respond verbally. Her lips were already on his.

* * *

Mary didn't know when she had fallen asleep or how, but she was disoriented for a few moments when she awoke around seven.

When she realized what she had done, she jolted up and looked over Matthew.

He was breathing, sleeping, and he seemed alright.

He seemed alright.

Mary pulled the covers off of her side of the bed and slipped under them. It was warm, but not quite as warm as she expected. She put a hand over his head. The fever had broken.

A wave of relief crashed over her, and she pulled the covers up over her and lay down on her side, her eyes still on her husband, her feet burrowed into his calves. He seemed alright. She wouldn't know until he woke up, but he seemed alright.

About an hour later, he began to stir. Mary didn't move, but she watched him carefully for any sign of change in his condition.

His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked to adjust to the sunlight steaming into the room.

"Mary?" he rasped, his voice raw.

"I'm here," she said, her own voice lilting softly toward him.

"I'm okay?"

"It seems like it."

"Everything hurts," he said, but he smiled as he said it, and Mary felt a weight drop off of her chest.

She reached out for his hand. "I'm sorry. But you're feeling better than last night?."

"Like I'm going to survive, yes. In that case I am feeling better."

"Thank goodness."

He moved his arm, with obvious effort, and touched her face. "You stayed up all night for me?"

"I tried."

"Thank you."

"You really scared me. When I came in and found you on the floor... And then with the illness. I was afraid I would lose you."

Matthew shook his head. "I'm not that easy to get rid of."

An uneasy laughter came out of Mary's mouth. She still wondered if he was really out of the woods yet, but he seemed far better.

He closed his eyes again. "Mary?"

"Yes?" Her voice picked up a hint of fear.

"Your feet are cold."

* * *

 _I'm (sort of) sorry to end it there, but my original intent was a cliffhanger that was far more painful, so I'm being merciful. Anyway, thank you all so much for your support. I have all but one scene of the rest of the fic written, so there are four more chapters for me to edit and publish and then we'll have reached the end of this story. I couldn't have kept it up without your amazing encouragement, so thank you all so much. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please review!_


	19. Chapter 19

_He closed his eyes again. "Mary?"_

 _"Yes?" Her voice picked up a hint of fear._

 _Your feet are cold."_

* * *

Mary's eyes widened. "What did you say?"

"Your feet are cold," Matthew said, casually. He drew in a sharp, labored breath. "Your feet are cold!" He tried to sit up but the flu had knocked a lot out of him, and Mary put her hands on his shoulders. His eyes lit up as he realized the implication of what he felt. "Mary, your feet are cold!"

Mary couldn't respond. It was too much to take in. He was okay. He was more than okay. But what was happening? How was this possible? All she could do was laugh. "Matthew! I know now!"

He shook his head in disbelief. "I felt it. Mary, I felt it! Your feet were on my calves, yes?"

"Yes."

"And they're cold?"

"Quite. I just got under the covers."

Matthew coughed, and turned his head to look at her. "So it wasn't a phantom feeling? I've been told to expect those but..."

"There's only one way to find out," Mary said. She crawled down to his legs and held a hand over his legs. "Close your eyes, and tell me where I'm touching you."

He obeyed, and whispered, "You're on my thigh. My right thigh."

Mary glanced down at him. "You're right!" she said, grinning. "You're right!"

"Does this mean..."

"I don't know..."

"Do we even dare to hope?"

Mary crawled back down the bed and put her head on Matthew's chest. "Clarkson will be here soon. It's a little odd when he's here because you're sick, but I don't see the harm." She rolled over and propped herself up on her elbows so that she could look at her husband. "Did you have any signs before this?"

"I had lots of pains in my legs... and yes, that's what was going on with me but I was convinced that they were phantom pains because I had been told to expect them, so of course I didn't want to get your hopes up."

"What do you think this means for us?"

Matthew pursed his lips. "It could mean nothing at all."

"Or it could mean everything."

"Well, no matter what it means, I'll love you no matter what," he whispered. He burst into a fit of coughing again, and Mary sat up.

"Rest, darling. We'll find out soon."

He took a few minutes to catch his breath. "I don't want to get my hopes up for anything."

"I know," Mary said. "Are you in pain?"

Reluctantly, he nodded. "I'm afraid so, even more pain than usual," he said quietly. "I don't think my fall yesterday helped any."

"I was so scared for you," Mary whispered, burrowing further under the covers and reaching for her husband's hand. "You were on the floor, and your breathing was so shallow, and you were pale and sweaty and you looked almost dead. Don't ever scare me like that again."

"No promises," Matthew murmured. "But I'll try my best."

"I'm just so glad... that you made it. I could barely breathe last night, I was so afraid for you," Mary said.

"I'm still here. And maybe I'm getting even better than I was before."

* * *

When Clarkson came to check on Matthew, he was very surprised, for a multitude of reasons.

In all honesty, he wasn't sure if Matthew would last the night. Infection usually hit victims of paralysis hard, and illness usually affected them terribly. With such a terrible disease as the Spanish flu, it was sure to take a toll, perhaps even a deadly one, on Matthew.

He was glad to see that he was wrong when he entered the room. He saw Matthew, propped up by pillows, pale and weak, but very much alive and even smiling.

"You're feeling better, I take it?" Clarkson asked, as he approached the bed.

Mary came out of the bathroom, dressed and ready, and greeted Clarkson. "His fever broke early this morning."

"I'm feeling quite a bit better, yes," Matthew said. "My head is throbbing and my throat is like sandpaper, but otherwise."

Clarkson nodded and set down his bag. "Good," he said, pulling out a stethoscope. He listened to Matthew's heart and chest and nodded slowly. "I don't like the sound of your lungs, but I suppose it's to be expected. As long as you rest for the next few days, we should avoid pneumonia or anything like that."

Matthew didn't look thrilled with the idea of staying in bed for a few days but nodded slowly.

"Was there anything else?" Clarkson asked.

Mary and Matthew shared a glance. "Well... actually..." Matthew began, stumbling over his words, "it isn't related to this, but..."

Mary stepped forward to be next to her husband. "He felt something this morning."

Clarkson pressed his lips together. "I'm afraid that's quite impossible, it would have had to be a phantom sensation..."

"No," Matthew said firmly. "I felt it. I felt several things, in fact. I felt Mary's cold feet on my legs. I knew they were cold. Without even thinking about it, I told her that her feet were cold. How do you explain that?"

"Well, I..."

Mary stepped in. "We tested it, also. He closed his eyes, I put my hand on his leg, and he told me where I was touching him. He was right. We did it several times. He was usually right."

"It's not perfect or anything, but it isn't in my mind," Matthew finished, determined. Unfortunately, this determination was cut off by coughing, and Clarkson waited until Matthew caught his breath again to respond.

Clarkson looked at the couple warily. "I'm not quite sure how... I would like to test you again, but I should leave you to rest. I suppose it's possible that the injury was incomplete, or..."

"Or?" Mary raised an eyebrow.

"Lady Mary, you know I'd rather not give false hope."

"So there is hope in this case?"

He sighed, and hesitantly spoke. "It's possible that... the spinal cord was not severed. That the paralysis was a response to the heavy bruising sustained. This type of spinal shock typically goes away after days, so as there was no improvement, I was certain that it was severed."

"But it might not have been?"

"I have never heard of spinal shock taking this long to wear off. It may be that the cord was severed, but not completely, and that feeling may be regained, but not movement. In fact, that is probably more likely, but..."

Mary pressed. "But?"

"When the specialist came to see Mr. Crawley, he said it could be a case of spinal shock. I didn't believe him, because the recovery was and has been so slow. But Mr. Crawley, you told me you were experiencing pain in your legs a few months ago, didn't you?"

Matthew nodded. "You told me it was psychosomatic."

"It may have been, but it also may not have been. What you've told me doesn't seem to fit with an incomplete injury. It has to be spinal shock."

"But what does that mean for recovery?" Mary asked.

Clarkson held up a hand. "Don't get too far ahead of yourself. But there is a chance. And if it's spinal shock, it's definitely a chance, as long as the atrophy isn't too far gone. It's going to be difficult and painful, though, learning to walk again."

"You think I could?" Matthew asked, his mouth open and his tone breathless.

"There is a chance. Even if it does happen, though, it will be a while. And it won't be easy."

Matthew ignored the doctor's warning and grinned. "I'm up for it. I'm up for anything."

* * *

It wasn't long after Clarkson left that Sybil burst into their room, barely knocking. She walked in on Mary and Matthew holding hands, talking quietly about the future. While she normally would have taken a moment to appreciate the gentle and loving domestic scene, there was no time in this instance.

"It's Mama," Sybil said, to the unasked question on Mary's face. "She's worse."

Mary jumped up from the bed and glanced at Matthew.

He put up a hand and settled back against the pillows, still gasping slightly for breath. "I'l be fine," he rasped. "Go."

Mary nodded, bent down to kiss him, and followed Sybil upstairs. "How long has she been this bad?"

"Only a few hours. She seemed alright last night, but now..." Sybil trailed off, not wanting to say what might come next. "Matthew looked better though."

"He was awful last night... A few times, I wondered if I would lose him. But he's strong. He pulled through and it's looks like he'll be fine." Mary almost couldn't hold back her smile for her other news, but she managed. The celebration would have to wait.

Sybil squeezed her sister's hand as they stood at the door of their mother's room. "I'm so glad."

"We must have some good news once in a while," Mary replied dryly. She pushed open the door. And stumbled back when she saw her mother. Her voice cried an almost silent, "Mama?"

Edith had stayed with her mother overnight rather than go back to Locksley, and she was dressed simply and holding her mother's hand. "She's still with us."

Mary nodded soberly, and steeled herself enough to look over her mother. Cora looked even worse than Matthew had the night before; ghostly pale, sweaty, cold and hot at the same time, and so tired.

"You should have told me sooner," Mary whispered. It wasn't an accusation, but more her own regret.

Sybil shook her head. "We didn't want to tear you away from Matthew. Especially since he was so ill last night. We figured you'd get us if something was really bad, but..."

"I just wish... How did it get this bad?"

"She just... her fever rose and rose and it wouldn't come back down. She's been saying funny things all night, and I don't know if she knows that we're here," Edith said, her voice grim.

Mary leaned over her mother. "Mama? Mama?" She turned back to her sisters when she got no response. They both pressed their lips in a tight line.

She noticed a conspicuously missing person. "Where's Papa?"

"He went for a walk," Edith said. "He said something about the inn in the village."

Sybil's eyes widened. "He's gone to the Grantham Arms. To talk to Tom." She nearly burst out of the room.

Mary put an arm on her little sister to still her. "Sybil, Mama needs you right now."

"Papa needs to know that Mama needs him, and I need Tom. No matter what happens here, I will need Tom. Clarkson is here and after he's checked on Carson he'll come in here, and he'll be more use than I'll ever be, and Papa needs to know."

Sybil left without another word.

Mary and Edith shared a glance. "She's..." Edith began.

"Sybil is Sybil," Mary said firmly. "And she's usually right."

* * *

Sybil's feet slapped the pavement as she ran as quickly as she could manage toward the Grantham Arms. She had to get back to Mama, but she also had to find Papa. And stand up for Tom.

The proprietor of The Grantham Arms knew her as Lord Grantham's daughter, and he was happy to inform Sybil of the whereabouts of her father. "He went up to one of the rooms, to visit a Mr. Branson,"

Sybil nodded. "Thank you." She tore away from the counter and took the stairs two at a time, finding the room Tom was in and knocking.

It took a few minutes, and a few hissed whispers, before the door was opened. "Sybil," Tom breathed, in relief.

Robert seemed affronted at Tom's freeness with his daughter. "Sybil, what are you doing here?"

"First, I'd like to know what you're doing here. And quickly, because we need to get back home," Sybil said.

"He's paying me off," Tom answered, with indigence. "Or at least he's trying to. I won't be bought off though. Not from love."

Sybil narrowed her eyes and turned to her father.

"Sybil," Robert began weakly, although his argument was over before it even started. "Sybil, darling, I just want what's best for you."

"That's what everyone says. But they don't know what's best for me. They can't believe that I know my own mind. Papa, I love Tom, and I have faith in him to stay strong, even when you try to bribe him. You're bribing away my happiness, Papa. Would you really do that to me, if you thought about it?"

Robert dropped his pen. "I believe you're being very foolish."

"I may be foolish, but I know I'm right."

He had no response to that. "What was it that you came here for?"

"Mama isn't doing well," Sybil said, "and you need to get back to the house right away. But of course, you're too busy having such little faith in Tom that you think that you can buy him off."

Robert's face paled. "How bad is she?"

"Pretty bad. Mary and Edith are with her, but you should go now."

That was all Robert needed, and he was nearly out the door when he asked Sybil, "Are you coming?"

"Yes, just a minute."

To Robert's glare, Tom added, "We'll leave the door open."

Robert sighed and started down the hallway.

Tom took Sybil in his arms and kissed the top of her head. "How bad is your mother?"

"We're really not sure... if she'll last," Sybil whispered. "But we're doing everything that we can."

"I shouldn't keep you, then."

Sybil shook her head. "Walk back with me. Please. I need your strength."

"And you want to talk about what happened with your father?"

"The fact that he accomplished nothing proves that we have nothing to talk about."

* * *

It was nearly seven at night when Mary entered the bedroom, red-eyed and exhausted. Her eyes immediately flickered to Matthew, and her heart dropped when she saw that he was not awake.

Her steps quickened and she came next to the bed and leaned over him to make sure that he was just sleeping.

She could hear his long, slow breaths, and she relaxed.

He drowsily opened his blue eyes and looked up at her. "How long have I been sleeping?" he asked.

"It's almost seven," Mary said.

"Pretty much all day, then," he replied. He tried to push himself up into a sitting position and winced.

Mary put a hand on his shoulder to still him. "Careful. Are you in pain?"

He shook his head, but said, "The nice thing about not being able to feel my legs was not being able to feel the pain in my legs."

"But you can feel."

"Yes," he said, grinning. "And any pain is worth it."

Mary went around to the other side of the bed and climbed on. "I was thinking we'd do dinner in here tonight. No one else is going to eat dinner in the dining room either, and I wasn't planning to go alone. Are you up to eating something?"

"A little," Matthew said. "How is your mother?"

Mary pressed her lips together. "She's better. Clarkson says she'll most likely recover, provided there's no terrible relapse."

"Well, that's something we can be thankful for."

"I think we have many things to be thankful for," Mary said, placing a hand on her husband's leg.

He looked from her hand to her face, blinking almost in disbelief. "I can feel that."

"We established that this morning."

"I know, it's just so..."

Mary leaned toward him and kissed him. "I know." She put her head on his chest, listening to his laboring lungs for a minute. A part of her was still afraid that Matthew wasn't totally better, but she pushed that fear aside. She frowned and murmured, "Papa was gone quite a while this morning, while Mama was so sick. It turns out, he was trying to bribe Tom away."

"I'm assuming it didn't work."

"Of course not," Mary said. "I may not approve of this marriage fully, but I believe that Tom has integrity and love for my sister."

Matthew reached up a hand to stroke his wife's hair. "How did Sybil find out?"

"She went to find Papa to bring him back here. Apparently she gave him quite the telling off."

"Sounds like Sybil."

Mary stared up at the ceiling. "Do you think we could go to her wedding?"

"You most certainly can, and you should. I don't know if I'd be able... I guess it depends on how soon they have it."

"Then we'll convince them to push it back a couple months. So that they can get established, so that Sybil has time to get used to Ireland, and so that hopefully you can go."

Matthew nodded. "She'll be happy."

"It's taken me a while to believe that, but yes, I agree."

"That's a first."

Mary shrugged. "There's a first time for everything."

"A first time for standing?" Matthew asked, training his eyes on his legs.

She gave him a wary glance. "Are you sure?" she asked. "You're still ill, and you can't even move your legs. Is this going to work?"

"I know it'll work with your support," Matthew replied with confidence. He sat up fully and slid his legs over the edge of the bed, supporting himself with his arms. "Come over here."

Mary obeyed and came around the edge of the bed.

She put her arms around his waist and pulled him up with a grunt. His breathing was heavy and his stance was weak, but his eyes were filled with joy.

"I can feel it," he whispered. "It's real. I'm standing. I mean, not on my own, but still. I'll be able to do it."

"Yes, you will," Mary said, and she let him down gently onto the bed. She crawled up next to him and began lavishing him in kisses. "You'll get your life back."

He reached up to tuck a hair behind her ear. "Of course, I'm thrilled. But I already had my life. I had it because you're mine."

* * *

A few days later, Sybil and Tom came into the sitting room to meet with a grinning Mary and Matthew.

"You're looking much better, Matthew," Sybil said genuinely.

"I feel much better," he replied cheerfully.

Sybil took a seat on the couch across from him. "I'm so glad. I know illness can hit those with paralysis hard, so I was quite frightened. It's quite amazing that we only lost one maid, when the flu has hit so hard elsewhere."

"Downton won't fall to something like the flu," Mary said.

Sybil raised an eyebrow. "Anyway, Tom and I are planning to leave in a few days. I think we'll wait about two months before the wedding. I'll stay with his mother and he can get settled into his new job and I can find myself a job and get used to Ireland. And hopefully at least you, Mary, are able to come. Papa won't be coming, he's quite firm on that. So I'm not sure who I'll have to give me away, but..."

"You'll have me," Matthew interrupted.

"What?" Sybil's voice rang with surprise. "Matthew, I don't.."

Matthew smiled, pausing for a second. He was unsure how to approach his news. "It's a funny thing really, turns out Clarkson was wrong. About me. About my injury. My back wasn't broken like he thought, just badly bruised, and I'm going to recover."

Sybil's jaw went slack for a moment as she absorbed everything Matthew just said. Then she jumped off of the couch and ran to hug Matthew. "That's the most wonderful news!"

"It certainly is," he said. "And now I have a goal to work towards. I'm going to be well enough to walk you down the aisle at your wedding and give you away. Because once we were supposed to belong to one another, but that was never really meant to be. It was never right. Now, once you marry Tom, it will all be right."

Tom, who had been fairly quiet, spoke up. "That's wonderful to hear."

"It's wonderful to say," Matthew said. "I'm so glad that everything has worked out. Between you two, and between Mary and I."

Sybil patted Matthew's hand, and returned to the couch next to Tom. "A June wedding, Tom? What do you say?"

"That sounds lovely," Tom replied. "Any time of year would be lovely being married to you, but June is beautiful. Only it's too far away."

"You've waited for six years," Mary said. "Surely you can wait a few more months."

Tom locked eyes with Sybil. "I know I can. It'll just be difficult."

* * *

The family was, of course, delighted to hear of Matthew's recovery. Throughout dinner, everyone smiled and grinned. Isobel kissed Matthew's head no less than five times, she was so overwhelmed by emotion, and even Violet seemed pleased.

Robert was the only one who seemed to have reservations.

As the joyful dinner party split and the women went into the drawing room, Robert drew up a chair next to Matthew and poured two glasses of whiskey.

"I'm very happy for you," he said, sounding as genuine as possible.

Matthew could barely keep from grinning. "Thank you, sir. I'm a very lucky man."

"I only wish I could be even happier, but unfortunately, this does present a new problem." Robert knocked back half of his glass.

"And what problem is this?"

"The heir."

Matthew's eyes narrowed.

"I assume you are now capable of..." Robert blushed. This was not a comfortable conversation and Robert hated speaking of anything like this.

Thankfully, Matthew caught on. "Theoretically, yes. I could possibly father a child."

"Unfortunately, as your marriage is... you could not."

Matthew frowned and took a sip of his own drink. "If you mean this as any offense to Mary, I won't listen."

"I mean no offense to my own daughter, but unfortunately, it is fact. She is infertile, and while you were consigned to the same fate, I was very happy to let you both find happiness in each other."

"And now you're not."

Robert sighed. "I'm putting this badly, but Downton needs an heir, Matthew."

"You didn't manage to produce an heir. You seem to be alright with how it turned out."

"I don't mean to hurt you, or Mary, but you've put yourself in a rather impossible situation, I'm afraid."

Matthew shook his head. "I don't regret it."

"Are you really going to be happy without children, Matthew? You seem such a fatherly sort, it would be a shame if..."

"You want me to divorce your daughter?" Matthew asked, incredulously. "I cannot believe you're placing the future of this house over the happiness of your own daughter. You can't believe I would agree to such a thing."

Robert stared at his hands. "I didn't think you would, but I thought it had to be said."

"But you would have happily let me divorce your daughter, were I a much more shallow man, just for a chance that this house could stay in the family?"

"There are no other heirs, Matthew."

He blinked. "What?"

"I searched around for anyone. Anyone who might end up getting everything after you died. But there was no one. You'll be the last earl, if you do not have a child."

"I'm sorry, then." Matthew pressed his lips together. "I'm sorry that it had to come to this. I'm not even sure if I will be able to have children, it seems to vary... And even if I could, I would never divorce Mary. She cared for me in the darkest time of my life, how would I repay her by divorcing her? And I love her, and we're so happy. Can't you see that?"

Robert sighed. "I just hope you don't get embittered."

"I won't. I am not that sort of man."

"I see I've been unsuccessful, then."

"I mean no offense, Robert, but you are a very ignorant man if you thought that you had a chance of being successful."

Matthew wished he could walk out of the room, or at least move under this own power, but he was sitting in a straight backed dining chair, his wheelchair was across the room, and he was stuck staring into Robert's eyes.

"I hope this changes nothing between us," Robert said weakly. There was little else he could say.

"I'm not sure it can be forgotten," Matthew replied, his voice cold and clipped.

* * *

Mary took his leg, lifted it, held it as she silently counted in her head, and placed it back down on the bed. She stole a glance at her husband's red face and murmured, "Are you alright?"

"I don't know why this is so exhausting, when you're doing all the work," Matthew groaned.

She took the other leg in her hands and lifted it up. "You haven't used these muscles in months. Give it time, it won't be so exhausting soon."

"I'm looking forward to that," Matthew said. He raised an arm to wipe the sweat off of his forehead. "Sybil and Tom are leaving tomorrow?"

Mary placed his leg back on the bed and gracefully flopped down beside him. "Early in the morning."

"I'd like to see them off."

"We'll see," Mary said, her gaze examining. He looked exhausted. He had been doing exercises given by Clarkson three times a day, even though he was still recovering from the flu. Mary was concerned with how hard he was pushing himself, but she figured that his body would let him know when it went too far.

His face formed into a sort of pout, which Mary found terribly funny.

It soon morphed into something pensive.

"Your father and I had an interesting conversation after dinner..." he began, and then hesitated. Did he really want to tell Mary about what happened?

"Yes?"

Matthew frowned. "We spoke about the future. About Downton's future. You see, it turns out... there are no heirs. I'm the last one. There were a few before the war, but of course that took care of the rest."

"And what was my father's response to this news?"

Silence.

"Matthew..." Mary prodded.

He swallowed thickly and pushed himself up on his elbow, trying to hide his grimace. "He suggested... that I have to father a child. That I should divorce you."

Mary blinked.

"I would never, of course, and I told him outright that it was unrealistic and unreasonable for him to expect that I would."

"My father told you to divorce me?"

This was the worst. That he was turning Mary against her own father. While Matthew certainly didn't approve of Robert's words, he didn't want to tear Mary's relationship with her father apart. "He suggested it. Mary, he was only looking out for Downton, I don't think he realized..."

"What he didn't realize doesn't matter. He told you to divorce me. He's seen how happy I am now, and he wants to take that away from me? Just for the sake of a stupid house?"

"Mary, I know you love Downton..."

"Yes, I do, but I love you far more."

Matthew kept his eyes trained on her. "I'm so sorry, for tearing this all apart."

"It's not your fault. It's my own, for being incapable of having a child. If George had lived, then..."

"If your son had lived, I would have never met you," Matthew said. It came out much louder than he intended, and his cheeks flushed pink. Maybe it was terribly selfish for him to say as much, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Mary nodded. "I just wish I could have had both of you. I wish George could have been yours and mine. I wish that we could have children of our own, and it's my fault that we can't, and..."

Matthew strained to reach over and put his hand on her. "Mary, it's not a matter of fault. Who knows if I could have a child either? Clarkson isn't sure, and I suppose I'll never know. But that's not what matters, not at all. There are plenty of children out there, waiting to be loved. They're children without parents. We can work something out."

"You're saying that we should adopt?"

"I'm saying that's certainly an option," Matthew said. "They may not be able to carry on the title, but I would fight with everything I have to make sure that they get Downton. An that way, Downton will still stay in the family."

"I'm liking this idea more and more."

* * *

The next morning was bright and sunny, but a chill coursed through the air. Mary climbed the steps to the train platform, and saw Sybil and Tom sitting on the bench, waiting for their train.

"Mary!" Sybil said joyfully. "You came!"

Mary stepped forward and hugged her little sister. "Matthew wanted to come too, but he didn't sleep well last night because of pain and... other troubles. He was still asleep when I left, and I couldn't in good conscience wake him."

"Well, it's the thought that counts," Sybil said. "He'll come to the wedding, he isn't missing out on much now."

Mary smiled generously. "I'm going to miss you."

Sybil blinked back tears that were threatening to flow. "I'm going to miss you, too. I wouldn't have made it here, to happiness, without you."

"Even though I tried to discourage you and Branson?"

"You didn't stop us, though. You knew I could make my own decision, even if you didn't like it, and you didn't bring anyone else in to interfere. I trusted you, and I was absolutely right to do so."

"I know you're happy now. I hope you stay happy, and by your earnestness, I somehow believe you will."

Tom stepped forward and put a hand behind Sybil's back. "I'll do everything I can to ensure her happiness."

"I know you will," Mary said. She held out her hand for Tom to shake. "Watch out for her. Keep her safe. Make her happy. But most of all, love her. Sybil deserves all the love you can give."

Tom returned the handshake. "She'll have all the love I have to give."

"I'll hold you to that," Mary replied.

The train blew its whistle and Sybil stepped forward again and put her arms around Mary. "We need to go. Goodbye."

"I'll see you in a few months, don't worry," Mary said. "Be careful in Ireland. Remember you're an English aristocrat by birth, and they don't like our type."

Sybil stepped back. "I'll win them over. Don't worry about me, Mary."

"I can't help but worry."

"I know you will. I'll write as often as I can, and I'll assure you that I'm very happy. And so thrilled. So goodbye, my dear sister."

Mary waved as Sybil and Tom stepped onto the train. "Goodbye!"

* * *

The next day, Sybil stepped off the boat and onto the shores of Ireland.

"We're here," Tom said, although it was unnecessary. Sybil already knew.

She couldn't help but keep her eyes on him. "Honestly, it doesn't matter where in the world we are. I have you." She stepped up on her tiptoes and pecked him on the cheek. "But yes, we're here."

"Quite daring, milady."

"Quite unnecessary to call me that," Sybil replied petulantly. "We are equals, perhaps not in birth, but in strength and love."

Tom put his arm around her shoulder. "That is the kind of equality that is most valuable."

"Quoth the socialist?"

"There are more important things than politics."

Sybil leaned her head against his shoulder as they began to walk down the streets of Dublin. "Where are we going?"

"My mother's house. She's offered to let you stay with her before the wedding. She's very Catholic, so she would most certainly not allow us to live together before."

"My very Anglican parents wouldn't let us, either," Sybil replied. "Does your mother approve? Of us?"

Tom shrugged. "She thinks I'm foolish but I'm certain she'll love you."

"And why is that?"

"Because you're so worth loving."

Sybil grinned and moved even closer to him as they made their way through the crowded streets. They walked about ten blocks more before they made it to a tall tenement building. Tom led Sybil up seven flights of rickety stairs before knocking on the door of a flat.

The door opened immediately and Catherine Branson stood there, taking in her new daughter in law.

"Hello, ma'am," Sybil said, trying to sound colloquial. "It's wonderful to meet you at last. I've heard so much about you from Tom."

Catherine opened the door fully. "Have you now? Well, Tom's the chatterbox, so no surprise there. I've heard plenty about you, all in the most glowing of terms."

"Tom exaggerates, I'm sure," Sybil replied.

"He probably does. Come in, let me get to know you for myself."

Tom and Sybil exchanged a look and followed Catherine into the flat.

Catherine motioned to a settee in the corner of the main room. "Sit, both of you. You've had a long journey." Ton and Sybil gratefully sat down, and attempted to maintain a proper distance. "Would you like some tea?" Catherine asked.

Sybil nodded. "That would be wonderful, thank you."

"Any specifications?" Catherine asked, putting the kettle on the stove.

"No, not really. A little sugar would be lovely, but not necessary," Sybil replied.

"You seem nervous," Tom whispered to Sybil, as Catherine bustled around the kitchen to make tea.

Sybil grimaced. "I am, I'm afraid of disappointing your family."

"Just be yourself, and there's no chance of that."

Catherine took the kettle off the stove and poured the tea into three mismatched teacups. She handed one to Sybil and said, "I hope you won't mind your bedroom. My daughter Molly is the only one left here, so that room has been sitting empty for a while. It won't be much."

"It'll be perfect," Sybil interrupted. "This is a lovely flat, and quite a bit larger than I was expecting."

"You can't raise seven children anywhere smaller," Catherine replied, with a wink of her eye.

Sybil felt herself relax, and she took a sip of her tea. "So tell me about the rest of your family."

* * *

The next day for Matthew was the start of therapy, a long, arduous task he wasn't sure he was up for. If he didn't have Mary as his supporter, he certainly wouldn't be up for it.

The first session down at the cottage hospital seemed to be a disaster. He seemed to lack the little movement that he had gained, and the nurse who had been trained to administer therapy did very little with him, because his back started paining him worse than usual half an hour in.

The first therapy session turned into weeks of the same; mornings spent doing something he wasn't sure that he could, and afternoons spent lying in bed trying to make the pain go away. It was hard on him, and Mary noticed the the nightmares seemed to increase, and he was sleeping less and less because of the pain.

Every day, she had to remind him that the pain wouldn't last forever. Every day, she had to remind him that he was growing stronger. Every day, she had to remind him what he had to look forward to.

And one day, they were able to fully have relations, unimpeded by disability.

They lay in each other's arms, breathing hard, but full of joy.

Mary murmured, "The only thing that's lacking now is my fertility."

"Mary..." Matthew replied. There was little he could say to comfort her. But somehow they had to have a family. Somehow they would. "It doesn't matter. That was perfect."

A few days later, Mary came down with the car to pick Matthew up from the hospital, and went inside to see him sitting in his chair and grinning.

"What is it?" she asked, her heard beating wildly in her chest.

Matthew pushed himself up from his chair, stood on his own, and took a small, wobbly step toward her, before pulling her into his arms. He was definitely leaning on her, but he was also supporting his own weight, and he felt so much stronger. He was beaming.

She gladly held him up. "This is real," she whispered.

"It is," he replied.

He leaned down and kissed her from a new angle, one that was far better.

* * *

 _As always, thank you so much for reading! Reviews would be very much appreciated, and they make a writer very happy. :)_


	20. Chapter 20

A gentle stream of sunlight through the window woke Mary and Matthew. Mary opened her eyes, and snuggled further into Matthew's chest. He raised an arm to put around her.

"Ready to go?"

Mary looked up at him. "Ready to go to a country where half of them there want our kind dead? I suppose so."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "It's not as bad as all that. A few extremists don't speak for an entire country."

"It still scares me that Sybil is living there."

"Well, while you're there, you'll be able to protect her," Matthew said.

Mary rolled over to her stomach and locked eyes with her husband. "And I'll have you to protect me, of course."

"Ah yes, I'll beat any extremists off with my stick," Matthew replied dryly.

She reached forward to play with his hair. "Seriously, are you going to be okay? It's going to be a long journey, and I don't want you in pain."

He shifted and tried to hide his discomfort. "I'll be fine. It isn't as if we're walking all the way to Dublin."

Mary didn't seem convinced, but she let him go. "I can't believe my baby sister is getting married."

"The same baby sister who was engaged to me for about forever?"

"You might not want to bring that up at the wedding," Mary pointed out. "Who knows how the Irish will take it?"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "And you might want to be careful about what you say around the Irish. You might let your disdain slip."

"I'm wonderful in social situations. Even if they're Irish. And I have no particular disdain for the Irish, just the ...extremists." Mary pulled away from her husband and rang the bell. "Anyway, we probably should get up soon if we want to catch our train on time."

Matthew's eyes roamed over his wife. "Do we have time to..." he began eagerly.

* * *

Mary shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Who knows if we'll get the chance in Ireland?" he pouted.

She raised an eyebrow playfully. "I suppose we'll just have to test the thickness of the walls. We're staying with Tom's mother, where Sybil has been staying. According to Sybil, she's very nice and the flat is quite a bit nicer than expected. I wanted to book a hotel but Sybil insisted we accept the invitation. So I suppose we'll be roughing it."

"Your definition of roughing it is quite different of that of most others. I'm sure you can do without having a perfectly made bed for a few days."

Mary rolled her eyes and tossed off the covers. "Of course I can manage."

* * *

Mary stood at the railing of the boat, watching England disappear behind her. She turned as she heard Matthew slowly approaching her, the tap of his cane sounding on the deck.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, looping her arm through his to provide support.

He shrugged. "A bit sore. The rail journey wasn't very comfortable. But I'll be alright. Our bed looks remarkably uncomfortable, but I'm sure I'll sleep like a rock."

Mary glanced at him with concern. "You should take something if you need..."

"No," Matthew said sharply. Mary recoiled from his words. He closed his eyes and sighed. "No, Mary. I can't... Too many men can't stop and I'm not going to be one of them." He stared out at the tiny dot that was England resolutely.

"I admire your resolve," Mary said, "but I hate seeing you in pain."

"I'd much rather be in pain than unable to feel at all," Matthew replied. "Really, Mary, I'm fine." He kept his eyes trained on the water. "It's quite lovely out here. I haven't been any further than my mother's since I came back. I was starting to feel rather cooped up, honestly. I'm just glad to be here."

Mary tightened her grip on his arm. "Have you ever been to Ireland?"

"No, never. Really, the only time I've ever left England is to go to France," he said, and his eyes clouded over.

She regretted bringing the subject up, even though she couldn't have know that he would think of France. "Well, I'm determined to make you a more well traveled person. I've been to Ireland twice, for weddings of friends. I've been to America, once, to see my grandmother. I've been to the Continent a few times, but not nearly as much as I want to. You know, we never really had a honeymoon."

"I'm afraid I wasn't capable..."

"No, and I don't blame you. But you know, it would be lovely to do. Perhaps for our anniversary?"

Matthew still stared at the water. He couldn't see land anymore. "We should go to France."

Mary turned her head to look at him in surprise. "Are you..."

"Mary, I need to... I just have so much baggage there. And I need to make some new memories. To get rid of the old ones. Maybe it'll help the nightmares go away," he said. He bit his lip. "If anyone can help me with that, it's you."

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "France, then," she said. "You're sure?"

"Yes," he breathed.

Mary felt his legs start to weaken and Matthew leaned on her more heavily. "We should go to dinner," she said. She really was telling him that he should sit down, but she knew he hated being babied in any way.

He gratefully stepped away from the railing and kept his arm in Mary's. "I've heard the sunset is quite lovely on the other side of the boat."

"It's England in June, darling, the sun won't set for hours yet. But we'll have dinner and then we can watch it."

* * *

Tom stood near the docks in Dublin, inconspicuous and calm. He watched the ferry come into the harbor, and slowly people descended from the gangplank. Many of them were English soldiers, he noticed, and he tried to hide his disgust.

There was one English soldier that he wasn't so disgusted with, and he smiled slightly as Mary gently helped her husband get off the boat and onto solid ground.

Tom took quick steps over to them, expertly weaving his way through the crowds, as opposed to the tentative foreigners who stood by the boat, unaware of where to go. He reached them and gave them both a hesitant smile. He still wasn't entirely comfortable around Sybil's sister and brother-in-law, even if they were much kinder to him than he would have originally expected.

Matthew responded to Tom's greeting in kind, with a genuine but tired smile. Tom appraised the other man carefully. He stood gingerly, as if any wind might knock him over, and he leaned heavily on a cane, but at least he was standing. He was rather pale and the dark circles under his eyes were pronounced, and yet somehow he seemed to glow, especially when Mary's arm was in his.

Unsure how to greet her future brother-in-law, Mary first asked, "Where's Sybil?"

"She was helping my mother get the flat ready for your arrival," Tom said. "She would have liked to come, but she said she'd get to greet you just as well at my mother's place."

Mary nodded, a little disappointed that her sister was not there. It was harder to interact with Tom without Sybil there.

"Are we ready to go, then?" Tom asked.

"I still need my trunks," Mary said. She threw a glance to the luggage being unloaded off of the boat.

Tom furrowed his brow. "Trunks?"

"Of course. It isn't as if I'm going to wear this to the wedding," Mary replied, frowning.

It was hard for Tom to hold in an incredulous laugh. Mary's dark blue coat and gray skirt probably cost as much as all of Tom's clothes put together. But he said nothing to that effect, instead saying, "I suppose we'll need to hire a cab, then."

"How far is it to your mother's flat?" Mary asked.

"A mile or so, maybe?"

Mary frowned. "We would have needed to hire a cab anyway. I don't think Matthew..."

"I'm fine, Mary," Matthew protested, although it was fairly obvious that he was already in pain.

"It's no problem, then, we'll just hire a cab. How many trunks do you have?"

"Just two. And one of them is half full of Matthew's things, anyway."

Matthew threw a knowing glance to Tom. "She showed real restraint in packing. She didn't even bring along Anna."

"You know you're expected to be my lady's maid now," Mary responded, with a roll of her eyes.

Matthew leaned over and whispered into her ear, "Gladly."

At last, the trunks were off loaded. Tom carried one, and Mary managed to find a porter to carry the other. They hailed a cab and loaded the trunks on, and climbed in.

It was a quick ride to the flat, and the cab pulled up in front of a tall tenement building. It was fairly nice, made of brick and not as sooty as some of the other buildings around, but Mary looked on it with apprehension.

Matthew managed to climb out of the car. He immediately sensed her worry. "It's not what you're used to."

"It'll be fine," Mary said. "It's an adventure, I suppose."

"Some adventure," Matthew snorted. "Living like a real person."

Mary rolled her eyes and turned to Tom, who was helping offload the trunks. "What floor is her flat on?"

"The seventh floor, I think?" Tom said.

Mary pressed her lips together.

"Is that a problem?" Tom continued.

"It might be," Mary admitted, quietly. Matthew was still taking in his surroundings, and was unaware of their conversation. "Matthew is doing much better, but stairs are still difficult for him."

Tom sighed. "I should have thought about that."

"He won't want to complain. He might do alright, but if not..."

Tom nodded. "If you need to find somewhere else because of it, my mother will understand. Or I'll make her understand."

Mary smiled. "Thank you, Tom."

"Shall we go up?" he asked.

Mary had been right. The stairs were quite a challenge for Matthew, and he was in quite a lot of pain by the time they got to the seventh floor, nearly ten minutes later. But he tried not to show it, and Mary didn't want to bring it up to him quite yet.

Tom knocked on the door, and Catherine Branson answered it. She glanced at the group of three at the door; her son, the tall, dark, aristocratic woman next to him, and the handsome young man leaning on her.

"You must Mary and Matthew," Catherine said, opening the door further and inviting them in. Mary led Matthew immediately to the settee and helped him sit, and for once, he didn't protest.

"Yes. I'm..." She was about to give her title, but she figured it probably wouldn't impress Tom's mother. "I'm Mary Crawley. And this is my husband Matthew."

Tom ducked off, citing some sort of responsibility before the wedding. Mary suspected he just didn't want to deal with his mother at the moment.

"Ah, yes, I've heard plenty about both of you from Sybil."

As if called, Sybil came in from one of the bedrooms. "Mary!" she said, excitedly. She ran out into the sitting room and engulfed her sister in a hug.

If Mary was surprised by this show of affection, she didn't let her sister know. Instead, she stepped back and looked over her little sister. Sybil looked so happy, and Mary couldn't help but smile.

"I missed you," Sybil whispered, "but I'm so happy here."

Mary nodded, and felt an uncharacteristic lump in her throat.

Sybil turned her attentions to her seated cousin. "Matthew, how are you?"

"Better than I was when you last saw me, I think," Matthew replied, beaming up at Sybil. "Back on my feet, mostly."

Sybil sat next to him. "I'm so glad."

"I must admit, the stairs took quite a bit out of me."

Sybil let her mouth drop open. "I should have thought about that," she said regretfully. "I would have let you know, just to make sure it was alright."

"It's alright, I'll manage."

Mary came over and put her hands on his shoulders. "We'll see."

He sighed and let his head rest against the back of the settee.

Catherine sat down on the settee across, and everyone sat silent for a moment.

"I've heard so much about both of you from Sybil, I suppose it's high time I meet you both," said Catherine. "So Matthew, you were engaged to Sybil at one point?"

Matthew nearly laughed as he glanced at Sybil. "Well, yes, sort of... More like, our parents forced an engagement upon us..."

* * *

The conversation lasted for quite a while, and Catherine was pleasantly surprised with how much she liked Sybil's family members, especially Matthew. They were not as snobby as she expected they would be. Matthew, in particular, seemed right at home in the flat, and he made pleasant conversation and gave loving looks to his wife. He seemed grateful for the lodging and anything Catherine offered, and she decided almost right away that she liked him.

Mary was interesting; it was obvious to Catherine that she was aristocratic born and bred. Her every movement, her every word belied her upbringing. Although she was polite, she kept quiet. She seemed cold, aloof almost. She rarely made eye contract with Catherine, instead keeping her eyes focused on Matthew most of the time.

They appeared to enjoy the company of each other and yet Catherine quickly realized why they had married. Matthew had money and an estate, but his disability left him less desirable. Mary, perhaps, was not so desirable, as she had little money and a frigid personality. She was beautiful, yes, but her beauty was not the radiant brightness Sybil had.

Catherine observed all this shrewdly. Her eyes were drawn to the young couple as Matthew winced and audibly grunted, and Mary's hands went right to him.

"You should go lie down," Mary said softly. Her tone left no room for argument.

Matthew still managed to protest. "I'm fine. I'm perfectly comfortable here."

Mary placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're not, and you'll want to be rested up in the morning. After all, you have to go to Tom's stag party. I think you'll want to be feeling energized for that."

He considered that for a moment before nodding and slowly pushing himself up from the couch.

"Where is our bedroom?"

Catherine pursed her lips together. "I only have three, and Molly is in one. Someone will have to sleep on the couch, I'm afraid."

"I can, and Mary and Sybil can share that room..." Matthew started, nobly but weakly.

Mary shook her head. "No, you can't."

"I'll take the couch," Sybil said quickly. "I agree with Mary, you're not going to sleep on the couch."

Catherine nodded and led Mary and Matthew to the small bedroom.

Mary helped Matthew get settled in bed. "Try to sleep," she whispered. "I'll wake you before dinner."

He nodded, and closed his eyes. Despite his protestations, he was glad of the chance for a nap.

Mary closed the door behind her and joined Catherine and Sybil in the kitchen. "Hopefully he'll sleep until dinner. He didn't sleep well last night, so God knows he needs it," she said.

Catherine looked at her carefully. A fortune hunter wouldn't usually put so much care towards her husband. "If it isn't too insensitive, may I ask? Was it the war?"

Mary nodded. "He got thrown by a shell and he hurt his spine. He couldn't walk or feel for six months, but he's slowly getting better, the past three months. But it's still hard, and he isn't very good with stairs yet," she said quietly. Her eyes cast down to the floor. "He's so tired and it's so hard on him, but he's trying."

"I'm sorry," Catherine said.

"He's much better than he was the last time I saw him," Sybil brightened.

"That's true," Mary replied.

Catherine observed the care and reverence with which Mary spoke of her husband. It was unexpected, but Catherine rather liked to hear it. "I do like him quite a lot."

Mary and Sybil shared a smile. "Most everyone does," Sybil said. "At least once they get to know him."

"I didn't at first," Mary replied cheekily.

"Like I said, once they get to know him."

"When did you marry?" Catherine asked.

Mary thought back. "Last November." Had it really been that short a time ago? Everything with Matthew felt so natural now.

Based on what Mary had said earlier, Catherine surmised, Matthew would have been injured at that point. She couldn't tell if that was a point in Mary's favor or not.

"It was lovely, really. Small and quick, but very lovely," Sybil said, reminiscing. "And of course we all thought it was a perfect match because it was apparent they loved each other very much but wouldn't have gotten together if they hadn't been..." She trailed off, glancing at Mary.

Catherine's curiosity was peaked. "Hadn't been what?"

Mary swallowed. "At that point, we both thought we were barren. He because of his injury, and then me... My first husband, who... well that was really more an arrangement than a marriage... he died on the Titanic. The year before, though... I gave birth. My little boy only lived for two minutes and my womb was so damaged that I'm barren. I refused to accept it, for a long time, but after talking to multiple doctors... they all said there was nothing to be done." Mary surprised herself with how much she shared, but she supposed that there was no harm done. Her barrenness already seemed to be common knowledge, and it felt good to say it. To accept it. "Of course, now it turns out that he might not be and... I can't stand the thought that I've tied him down to this."

Catherine watched the young woman who she had thought so aloof on the verge of tears, and finally made up her mind about Mary Crawley. Mary was not cold for the sake of being a snob, she was broken and afraid, and had been that way for a long time. "I don't think he minds," Catherine said sagely. "He seems quite in love with you."

"How about ten years in the future? When there's no heir and the line dies with him because of his wife, who he never would have married if he hadn't thought..."

Sybil touched her sister's hand. "No, Mary. You can't think that."

"My father told him to divorce me. Think of that. My own father wanted him to divorce me."

"And Matthew refused, didn't he?" Sybil questioned calmly.

Mary was on the verge of tears, and she simply nodded.

"I can't claim to know either of you very well, and I can't speak for the future, but in the present, I think you'll be very happy together," Catherine said. Yes, she admired Mary Crawley and her dedication to her husband very much.

"And I think I can speak for the future in saying that Matthew loves you. He has for so long, Mary, and do you think he'd really give that up?" Sybil asked.

Mary shook her head. "Not now. Maybe someday."

"And if that someday ever comes, which I don't believe it will, you can face it then. And we can all bring him back to his senses, should he ever regret your marriage. But now, enjoy. Because you love each other. You've said this to me so many times, that I was lucky to have happiness in a marriage. Listen to yourself. Look at how lucky you are now."

Mary closed her eyes and allowed herself to smile. "I am lucky," she said, her voice thin. She turned to Catherine. "I'm so sorry, it's just..."

"Don't worry about anything. Nothing that was said here will be repeated, and I quite admire you for what you've said. It's nice to know the aristocratic Lady Mary Crawley has a heart."

Sybil tilted her head. "She'll deny, but yes, she has a heart, and quite a big one. And to tell you the truth, Matthew helped her open it up."

To this, Mary couldn't help but agree.

* * *

After a simple but lovely dinner, Mary and Matthew retired to the small bedroom and climbed into the bed. It was smaller than they were used to and certainly not as comfortable, but Mary shifted into her usual position in Matthew's arms and everything felt right.

"I doubt we can get away with anything tonight," Mary murmured. "The walls are too thin."

Matthew closed his eyes. "Speaking of thin walls, I heard what you said to Sybil and Mrs. Branson."

She sat up so that she could look at him. "You did? I thought you were sleeping."

"Not quite then. And of course, the walls are rather thin."

She bent her head downward and sighed. "I'm sorry. You must think that my opinion of you is rather low. It's not. But I just wonder if I'll always be enough for you to be happy."

"My darling, of course you will," Matthew said, reaching out an arm to bring her into his arms again.

Mary hesitated. "You don't know that."

"Isn't marriage an agreement that's saying 'you will always be enough'?"

"That's a lovely sentiment, but things have changed."

Matthew shook his head. "No, they haven't. Yes, I'm healing. But that doesn't mean I love you any less. I love you more with each day that passes, and in ten, twenty years, I can't even comprehend how much more I will love you."

"You're such a soppy romantic," Mary said, leaning down and brushing a piece of hair out of his face.

"If you're worried about children..." Matthew began. Mary's face fell, confirming the issue. "Mary, I don't care that you can't. Maybe I still can't."

Mary sighed. "You want to be a father, though."

"Maybe I do, but we don't necessarily need to have biological children. There are plenty of children out there, orphaned by war. We can make a few of them ours."

Her eyes widened. "You want to adopt?"

"I think it would be a wonderful solution."

"Then I agree. Of course, we'd have to find a nanny and..."

Matthew's brow furrowed. "A nanny? I thought..."

"Darling, you know how things are done among our type of people. Every child has a nanny. There's no way around that. We'll already be making shockwaves by adopting."

He had to think for a minute, but he conceded. "I think we should spend more than a single hour a day with the child," he said firmly.

"We can talk about such things later," Mary said. "But I like this idea. I suppose your mother would know something about this sort of thing, it's like her charity work. We'll talk to her when we get home, and then we'll go make a child's life much better by giving them a loving home."

Matthew pushed up painfully and kissed her. "It sounds perfect. And you and I will get to be parents. Look, now you have no reason to worry about me ever becoming unhappy with you."

"It was stupid of me to worry," Mary replied.

"No, it wasn't. It was perfectly human, and I've done the exact same thing. But please, don't worry."

Mary kissed him softy. "I'm not worried, not anymore."

* * *

When Sybil imagined her wedding as a child, she didn't really envision herself in a Catholic church standing next to the family chauffeur.

But even that was less of a shock than how strenuous the wedding rehearsal was.

Of course she wanted everything to go smoothly, but the priest's constant talking and his need for perfection was getting on her nerves. But Sybil figured, whether God preferred her as a Protestant or a Catholic, her annoyance was already putting her on thin ice and yelling at the bishop was not going to help her case.

She just wanted to be married.

She almost regretted not eloping, no matter what Mary and Matthew said. If they had eloped, they would not have to put up with this nonsense.

Maybe she fancied herself a modern thinker, but the idea of doing away with big fancy weddings slipped into her mind on more than one occasion.

"Could we try again from the beginning?" the priest asked, and the whole wedding party went back to their various starting places. Matthew pushed himself up from the front row pew and sighed as he made his way back down the aisle.

Sybil came up next to him and smiled. "Are you wishing I had eloped now?"

"It would have been easier on my back," he admitted. "But no, I still firmly believe I was right. And tomorrow, you'll forget about any issue you had with today."

She raised an eyebrow. "You won't though."

"Maybe I won't forget, but I'm not important. This will be your day."

Sybil grinned and they sat on a bench outside the sanctuary, waiting for their turn to come in. "I'm so glad you're giving me away," she said. "Especially since Papa... wouldn't come. I'd much rather have you do it."

Matthew cocks his head. "Are you..."

"I'm a little bit hurt that he won't come, but I'm putting it all behind me. You're here and Mary is here. I wish Edith had come, but I know since she's pregnant right now it isn't comfortable for her to travel." Sybil had been delighted to hear of her sister's pregnancy, knowing that it was something that Edith and Anthony had wanted for a long time. "And Mama and Papa... I can't say I expected them to come. Anyway, it's rather appropriate that you're giving me away."

"Giving you away, because you used to be mine?" Matthew teased.

"Something like that. Close enough," Sybil replied. "Although I hate the idea of a woman being a man's property."

Matthew nodded. "So do I. Even if I didn't despise that idea, your sister would never let me treat her like anything less than she deserves."

"I admire Mary," Sybil said.

"You're in good company."

Sybil was happy to see her brother-in-law so in love, and so happy. Life had truly worked out for both of them. "I hope my marriage is as happy as yours," she said, her eyes wide

"I hope so too," Matthew replied. "You deserve that."

The last of the wedding party entered the sanctuary, and Sybil was drawn out of her reverie. "We're next," she said.

"Let's hope this is the last time. Until tomorrow, that is."

* * *

As soon as she stepped outside the church, Sybil let out a heavy sigh.

"Long day?" a familiar voice asked.

She turned around. There was Tom, sitting on a bench in the small church garden, smirking slightly.

Sybil sat down next to him. "I didn't expect getting married to be quite so much work."

"That was part of why I wanted to elope," Tom joked. "Although the main reason, of course, was getting to have you faster." He put his arm around her shoulder and Sybil shivered with delight at the contact.

"Not until tomorrow," she warned. Tom pretended to pout and Sybil laughed. "You look just like a petulant child," she said.

"I'm just excited for tomorrow. Very excited."

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "So am I."

"Of course, I'm rather afraid for tonight. Kieran has planned my stag party, and honestly, that prospect is frightening."

"I'm in for a night that your mother and Molly planned, so I'm only slightly less afraid," Sybil said. "I'm mostly afraid of how disgusted Mary will be. But don't worry about Matthew at your party. If anything, he'll make sure you're not dead drunk by the end of the night."

Tom laughed. "I would never, darling."

"No. But Kieran might force you to drink until you pass out."

Tom kissed her forehead. "I suppose I probably should go prepare myself then. I won't see you until you walk down the aisle tomorrow, and look even more radiantly beautiful than you always are."

Sybil blushed as she stood with him. "Goodbye, then. Until tomorrow." She tiptoed up and kissed him.

Tom held onto her, and kept his lips on hers for a little longer than necessary. "Goodbye."

* * *

Matthew had never been much of a party person. He had never liked noise much either. So he was especially averse to noisy parties. The endless dinners at Downton were one thing, but this loud and crazy stag party was something entirely different.

He was exhausted, too, from the rehearsal earlier that day. Although he had slept for a bit before the party, he still was feeling drowsy and the whiskey he drank wasn't helping him at all. He had settled down on a hard wooden chair against the wall of the pub, sipping on his whiskey and watching men get drunker and drunker.

He kept a special eye on Tom. Sybil had pulled him aside before he left and asked him to make sure that Tom did not get too drunk, and Matthew was nothing if not dutiful. He resolved to stay fairly sober throughout the night.

That, however, was difficult, when the men at the pub kept offering him drinks. And he almost found himself enjoy the taste of the alcohol, and the effects; it made him less aware of the ever present pain in his back.

But after two or three drinks, he couldn't remember which, Matthew realized that he was not going to be sober much longer and he refused any more drinks. He'd known of plenty of men who had given themselves up to alcohol. One night of drinking wouldn't do that, of course, but he was wary.

He took another glance to make sure Tom was alright.

Tom was in the middle of the room, sweaty, his sleeves rolled up and his hair falling into his face. Clearly tipsy. Someone, maybe Tom's brother, was offering Tom another drink. Tom looked indecisive about whether to take it or not.

Matthew sighed and pushed up from the chair and made his way across the room to where Tom stood. "Are you alright, Tom?" he asked gently.

"Aww, come on. Another drink won't hurt, will it?" one of the men asked.

Tom shook his head. "No, Kieran, I don't want it," he articulated carefully.

"It's the English rubbing off on you, isn't it," Kieran said. "It's your stag party. It's the one night in your life that you can drink all you want."

"And tomorrow is his wedding," Matthew said. "Where he would like to not be hungover. Which I would argue is far more important."

Tom looked at Matthew gratefully, and ignored Kieran's teasing jeers as he walked back across the room and sank into a chair next to Matthew's. "Thanks," he murmured. "I wasn't sure how much longer I could refuse."

"Sybil didn't want you blind drunk."

"No, and I don't want to be. Then I can't see her properly when she comes down the aisle, and that would be the greatest shame of all," Tom said dreamily.

Matthew considered his future brother-in-law and smiled. "You really love her, don't you?"

"Much more than you would have," Tom replied. He was very nearly drunk.

"I think that might be true," Matthew said. "I'm so happy for her."

Tom leaned back against the chair and smiled. "I really love her."

* * *

Sybil's hen party had been far tamer by comparison. Catherine and Molly had arranged a pleasant variety of games, food, and company. Mary felt like a fish out of water but she didn't complain, because Sybil so obviously fit in.

The night progressed quietly, all the guests (friends of Sybil apparently, all of whom Mary was completely unaware of) went home, and Mary found herself sitting next to her little sister on her bed.

"I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep tonight," Sybil said. She was almost bouncing on the bed, almost childlike.

Her little sister was about to get married.

Mary smiled at Sybil, although a wave of nostalgia hit her. Mary had never thought herself the sentimental or nostalgic sort, but none of the rules applied to Sybil. Sybil was something special. "At least try. Otherwise people will think you've already been up to something."

Sybil crossed her legs and smirked. "On the couch in Mrs. Branson's flat?"

"I could give you some tips on how not to wake everyone up," Mary suggested.

Sybil raised an eyebrow. "How risqué!" she said mockingly. "I can't believe such a thing came out of your mouth." Her delighted grin morphed into something more serious, however. "You love being married, don't you?"

Mary cast her eyes down toward the faded bedspread. "That's a difficult question," she replied quietly. "I love being married to Matthew. Patrick, not so much, but that part of my life was mostly negligible. But Matthew... yes, I love being married to him. I love him."

"I love Tom. I hope you realize that."

"I do," Mary said softly. "But Sybil, realize, marriage isn't always perfect or blissful. You'll fight, you'll struggle, but at the end of the day, they'll still be by your side. You're living your entire life with your best and closest friend."

"That sounds awfully sentimental," Sybil teased. "But I love it."

Mary's eyes flickered up toward her sister. "I'm happy for you. Really, I am."

"You've said it before, but you know what? This time, I really do believe you."

* * *

Sybil stood in front of the sanctuary door nervously. She listened as the music began to play "I can't believe it's happening right now," she whispered.

"Cherish it," Matthew said. "You'll never get this time back. But it'll be one of the most beautiful moments of your life."

"It's almost time," Sybil breathed.

Matthew got up from the bench and slowly walked over to take Sybil's arm. "Are you ready?"

Unexpectedly, Sybil put her arms around him and brought him into a tight embrace. "Thank you. For everything. For being my friend. It could have been us, and I'm glad that it wasn't, but I'm so glad to have you as a brother and a friend."

Matthew tentatively wrapped his arms around Sybil. "Thank you, too," he whispered. "I'm glad everything worked out, and we both got our happy endings."

"This isn't a happy ending," Sybil said, releasing Matthew and taking his arm instead. "This is just the beginning."

The doors opened and they walked down the aisle, arm in arm.

Mary smiled as she watched her husband, who looked much stronger on his feet than usual, walk her sister, who was practically glowing with happiness, down the aisle.

Tom turned and couldn't resist breaking into a grin when he saw Sybil come down the aisle. She was so radiantly beautiful, and it was not just the simple white dress that made her so, but her radiance of excitement and grace at the same time.

Matthew let Sybil go, and went to sit by his own wife.

Sybil took Tom's hand in hers. "Are you ready?"

"I've been ready for a long time."

"So have I."

The ceremony progressed, and Tom was rather impatient throughout. Sybil remembered Matthew's advice to cherish the moment, but she too wanted to finally be married to Tom, after waiting so long.

When the priest pronounced them husband and wife, their lips met almost immediately.

Of course they had kissed before, but this was different, newer, special, more intense, more beautiful.

They were husband and wife.

It was more than enough.

* * *

 _So, as crazy as it seems, I only have two more chapters left to wrap up this story! The next update might be a day or two late, because I'll be out of town, but never fear, the last two chapters have been written and are just waiting to be edited. So thank you all so much for sticking with this story! It's very close to my heart and I'm so happy so many of you love it too. That said, please take a minute and leave a review? A review is the best gift you can possibly give a writer. :)_


	21. Chapter 21

Isobel had been delighted to hear of Mary and Matthew's plan. She had given them the names of quite a few charities that she had worked with in the past, and Mary and Matthew had looked over them and investigated what the easiest and best way for them to proceed would be.

They decided to go to an orphanage that Isobel had named for them in London. It had been a while since Mary had been to London, and so she was happy to have an excuse to go there. They chose to wait a few weeks after returning from Ireland, to prepare themselves and prepare a nursery. It was also, partially to give the family time to get used to their proposal; of course it was odd, but they were both so firm in their choice that there was no talking them out of it. For a few weeks, they waited to go to London. It was nice, they had to admit, to have the rest.

Although rest was not exactly what they had in mind.

He was sweaty, though pleasantly so, and he held Mary in his arms after some enjoyable exertions.

"That was fun," Mary murmured pleasantly. "It seems to get better and better."

"Well it's always better when I don't have to ruin it when I'm in pain," Matthew replied. His tone was light enough, but a bitterness was barely concealed underneath.

Mary brushed his hair away from him face. "You didn't, today, though. How is it?"

"I can hardly feel it today."

She smiled and bent down to kiss him. "And it'll only get better from here. Now, I guess we'll have to face them again, once they've had time to think about our announcement."

"Do you think they support us?"

"I think so," Mary said.

Matthew pushed himself up on his elbows. "Then we'll go soon?"

"You're eager."

He blushed. "I've always wanted to be a father. I suppose I never dreamed it would happen this way, but I certainly don't mind." He stared at the ceiling, a distant smile on his face. "Mary?"

"Yes?"

"What... what kind of a child do we want? I know if we were having a biological one, we wouldn't get to choose, but we kind of have to choose. So how old, what gender, all of that?"

Mary pressed her lips together. "It's probably easier when you don't have to choose."

Matthew rubbed her shoulder tenderly. "Probably, but we do have to choose. And so we'll take advantage of our choices. I want an infant, but perhaps not a newborn infant. What about that?"

"Six to ten months, about," Mary decided. "Old enough to sleep through the night, young enough to always know us as their parents."

"And gender?"

Mary blinked. "I don't know."

She was thinking about George, he knew. How they were replacing George, in a way. And maybe she was thinking about the earldom, how it could never belong to their child. "I've always wanted a little girl," Matthew said.

"Perfect," Mary replied, her voice soft. "A little girl."

"And a war orphan," he added. "There are so many and..."

"I understand," Mary said.

Matthew didn't have to say anything else. He just pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I love you. So much. The mother of my future child."

"Well, father of my future child," Mary said, and to her surprise, she felt no bitterness in her voice, "shall we sleep? Or will you pleasure me again?"

He grinned. "We don't need to sleep quite yet."

* * *

Back in Ireland, Sybil and Tom embraced each other warmly in their new flat. They had both fallen asleep in the middle of the day. No one would care. It was, after all, their honeymoon. Sybil had refused an expensive honeymoon, instead telling Tom she just wanted to be with him.

Tom gratefully agreed.

They barely left the bed in the week they had given themselves, and they certainly never dressed properly. It wasn't so much that they were making love at every moment, although they did plenty of that. It was just the intimacy of being with each other, totally exposed and totally happy.

Sybil began to blink as she noticed the light streaming in through the dirty window in their room. Tom was still asleep. She peered at their clock. It was three in the afternoon. It was an odd time to be sleeping, but she didn't put much stock into it.

Tom's arm was around her, so tight that she could barely escape his grasp. She was so comfortable, she didn't want to.

This wasn't the honeymoon she had dreamed about. No, she had heard Mama's tales of a lavish honeymoon in Greece, where her parents had gone out ever night to the beaches or to beautiful historical sites. They had actually made it out of their hotel room, and Sybil assumed she would do the same.

No, this was not the honeymoon she had anticipated.

This was so much better.

* * *

It was a part of London Mary most certainly had never been to, and by the look on Matthew's face, she figured he'd never been there either. It was much poorer, obviously. Soot covered the rickety buildings and the children in the streets were dressed in little better than rags. They didn't seem to notice or care about the cab driving toward them.

The cab reached a brick building that would have been nice enough were it not dilapidated and covered in soot. "This is it, ma'am, sir," the cab driver said. "Would you like me to wait out here?"

Mary glanced around the area. There were no other cabs in sight. "Yes, please," she said. She felt out of place, in her elegant clothes and probably holding more money in her purse than several of the families had at all.

She came around to the other side and helped Matthew get out. He almost bristled at it, murmuring that it should be the other way around, but Mary knew the height of the car made it hard to exit, and she didn't want her husband hurting himself anymore.

"So this is it?" he asked, stepping beside her.

Mary sighed. "I don't suppose there were any nicer places in London."

"You can hardly hear orphanage and believe it to be something akin to a five star hotel," Matthew said, rolling his eyes.

"Part of me can't believe I'm here. The old me would never have even come to this part of London, let alone think about adopting a child from here. Maybe taking in the child of a deceased friend as a ward, but certainly not.."

"Do you really miss the old you?

Mary pursed her lips. "Sometimes. Very rarely though, especially now."

"I'm glad to hear it, because I love you as you are," Matthew said. He motioned to the steps at the front of an orphanage. "What are we waiting for?"

They made their way up the front steps and rang the doorbell. They waited a good two minutes before a frazzled looking woman, with a young child on her hip and another hiding behind her skirts, opened the door. "Hello?" she asked. She appraised her visitors critically. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen people dressed so elegantly, not out here.

"We're here to adopt a child," Mary said gently.

The woman's eyebrows raised. "Really?"

"Didn't Isobel Crawley write to you? To arrange it?" Matthew asked.

"Ah, yes. Of course. Well in that case, come into the sitting room. I'll be with you in just a second, Ann has to be put down for a nap and I think Winifred slipped outside again. I'll get my helper to wrangle the rest of them." She led Mary and Matthew to a small sitting room, much cleaner than the rest of the place, with a shabby but neat couch and a few straight backed chairs. "Thank you for being patient," she said, and she rushed off again.

Matthew carefully sunk down onto the couch, letting out a sigh of relief. Mary glanced over him critically. He held up a hand in response. "I'm fine. The jolting on the train didn't help me any, but really, I'm alright."

"I wish I could believe you," Mary said softly. She slipped her hand into his. "At least this won't last forever. I just wish it wasn't so hard."

He cast his eyes down to the floor. "Believe me, so do I. But pain is far better than not being able to feel at all."

The door to the sitting room opened and the frazzled woman entered. "I'm so sorry about that. I'm Jane Collier." She held out a hand for Matthew to shake, and then Mary, and introductions were spread all around. "We don't get many people looking to adopt. Most of these kids either age out of the orphanage or get taken in by distant family. Why did you decide to come here?"

"I'm infertile," Mary said quietly.

Matthew reached for her hand. "It's possible that I am, too. But we both thought that instead of longing for a child, we should take action and give a better life to one who has no parents. Especially if they were... orphaned because of the war." Matthew gripped his cane that was propped by his side. "I fought, which is why were were hoping to adopt a war orphan, if you would happen to know."

Ms. Collier's eyes fell to Matthew's cane. "Will you be able to provide for your family, Mr. Crawley?"

"This isn't permanent," Matthew said. "I'm still in recovery. But I am a lawyer, and that profession doesn't require anything strenuous."

"He's the heir to the Earl of Grantham as well," Mary pointed out. She knew Matthew didn't like that connection being used, but it was unavoidable at would put to rest any fears that Ms. Collier might have.

Ms. Collier, unsurprisingly, was impressed. "I'm sure any of the children here would be happy to find a home with you. I know it's difficult to choose a child because they're real humans, with feelings, but do you have any idea what age or gender you might want?"

"A girl, and we were hoping six to ten months old?" Matthew said.

Ms. Collier nodded. "I think I know who. I'll go get her."

Mary and Matthew waited again, and shared a silent laugh at Ms. Collier's obvious unease with them.

"I'm sorry she made you feel... inadequate in any way," Mary said softly

Matthew fiddled with his cane. "I'm used to it at this point. But I'm looking forward to the day when I'll no longer be so. Anyway, that doesn't matter now."

Just then, Ms. Collier returned with another baby on her hip.

"This is Emily," she said, entering the room. "Her father and mother were quite young, they got married in the last year of the war. Her mother got pregnant on the same leave and her father died in battle soon after. Her mother gave birth to her and died a month or so later of the flu. Emily is eight months old. That's all I know about where she comes from, but she's a perfectly sweet girl so far."

Matthew reached out for the little girl and Ms. Collier tentatively allowed him to hold her. To her surprise (and Mary's), he seemed to be quite the natural with the little girl. She settled down in his arms and immediately laid her head against his shoulder.

"She likes you," Ms. Collier said, looking almost relieved. It was the happiest Mary had seen her.

Matthew looked into Emily's eyes. They were bright blue, like his own, but her downy hair was a lovely light brown. "Hi, Emily," Matthew said softly. "I'm Matthew. But you won't call me that. You'll call me Papa, because I'm going to be your Papa."

Emily babbled something in apparent approval.

"She's quite the talker right now," Ms. Collier commented.

Matthew took Emily under her arms and turned her so that she was facing Mary. "And look," he whispered into her ear. "That's your Mama now. Isn't she beautiful? And we'll both love you very much."

He looked at Mary and she was starting to well up.

"Is Emily alright or..." Ms. Collier began

Mary shook her head. "I think Matthew is in love with her already."

To prove her point, Matthew was already bouncing the little girl on his lap and making faces at her.

"I'm glad. It's always nice to see these kids go to loving homes. I just hope..."

"What?"

Ms. Collier sighed. "I hope the 'shine' of having a new baby doesn't wear off. I hate to see any of them neglected."

"Emily will never be neglected," Mary said.

Matthew heard Mary's comment and turned his attention from the little girl for one moment. "No, she'll never be neglected." He immediately began to play with Emily again.

Ms. Collier nearly smiled. "Good."

* * *

"I'm glad Anna is here," Mary said, lounging on the bed of their London hotel room. "I know we don't want a nanny all the time, but you have to admit, neither of us know much about childcare."

Matthew sat in the chair by the window, cradling a sleeping Emily in his arms. "Does Anna know much about childcare?"

"She took care of a few younger siblings," Mary said. "She certainly knows more than you or I do."

He conceded to this, and put a hand on the head of the sleeping baby. "She's so beautiful," he whispered softly. "I'm so glad she's ours."

Mary sat up. "Is she really ours, though? Is she ever going to wonder why she isn't ours? I don't know what to tell her when she asks. And I wish..."

"She's ours, Mary. As much as any child of yours and mine could be. I knew it the minute I laid eyes on her, and I already love her so much, as soppy as that sounds," Matthew said, leaning down to kiss Emily's forehead. "I know you wish that things were different, and while I do too, mostly for your sake and for your father's, I don't care about all that. Not when I have this. Not when I have my two beautiful women."

She rolled off the bed and made her way to where Matthew was sitting. Matthew moved Emily to one arm and invited Mary to sit in his lap.

"Can you handle the both of us?" she asked tentatively, referring to him physically.

Matthew laughed, understanding the spirit and the underlying meaning of her words. "Of course I can. I've learned my way around Crawley women."

"Is Emily a Crawley woman now?" Mary asked, gently sitting on his lap.

"Of course she is," he replied gently. He moved Emily into Mary's arms. "There. See, she's happy to be with her mama."

Mary looked down at Emily and began to break into a smile. "At first, I didn't understand how you could love her this much already, since you barely knew her. But looking at her, holding her in my arms, I understand."

"My beautiful girls," Matthew murmured, and he kissed both of the women in his life.

* * *

All the servants lined up to greet Mary and Matthew and Emily as they came home. Some were excited, some had doubts, but they were all there, in front of the house.

The car pulled up and Mary got out, holding Emily in her ams, and waited patiently for Matthew to get out. "This is quite a grand welcome for such a little one," Matthew said, patting Emily's head.

"She is our daughter," Mary replied, smiling. She took Emily to greet Carson first. "Emily, this is Carson. He loves me very much, and I love him very much, and I'm sure you'll both love each other very much."

Carson wasn't sure what to make of Mary's unorthodox method of becoming a mother, but of course he couldn't resist smiling at Emily, raising his eyebrows and making the little girl laugh. "She's quite adorable, milady," Carson said with assent.

Mary grinned and led the way inside, with her husband and the rest of the servants and the family trailing after her.

Once everyone was seated in the library, Mary allowed her father to hold the little girl. Both Emily and Robert were quite uncomfortable with the arrangement, and Emily began to cry. Cora also tried to hold Emily, but she wouldn't stop crying. Finally, Mary took Emily back and gave her to Matthew.

"Matthew seems to have the magic touch with her," Mary said. Sure enough, Emily's tears were drying. "She'll get used to all of you in a while, it just takes a little time. She wasn't sure about me at first either."

Matthew bounced his daughter on his lap. "She really likes being held, so once she trusts you, she won't let you put her down."

"Have you found a nanny yet?" Cora asked.

Mary pursed her lips and glanced at her husband. "We were just thinking we wanted a nanny who worked nights and maybe a little bit in the day. It was our compromise. Matthew didn't want a nanny at all, but I'm afraid he doesn't realize that our sleep will suffer if she's in our room. So just someone to stay with her during the night, and watch her in the day when we need her."

"That's quite unconventional," Robert said.

Matthew shrugged. "We've never been conventional, and I don't want our daughter raised entirely by nannies and governesses."

"I'm afraid people will see such an adoption as rather odd..." Robert said.

Mary shook her head. "I don't care. We want children, I'm fairly certain most people are aware that there's some sort of infertility problem between us, and we want to break the entail."

Robert's eyes opened wide. "You what?"

"We want to break the entail," Matthew repeated after his wife. "I told you we'd have to do a private bill in Parliament, and it would only be passed if the estate was in danger. Well, the estate is in danger. There are no heirs after me. The title will die, yes, but what about the estate. We're proposing that uncertainty as the danger of the estate."

"I wish you had consulted me."

"Of course, I was going to, but it was just something Mary and I had discussed at length. But having Emily here... It suddenly seems much more important."

Robert looked as his daughter and his heir with uncertainty. "We'll discuss it."

* * *

The library door opened and Robert could hear the sound of a voice inside. He was unsurprised to see it was Matthew, reclined on the couch, a book in one hand and Emily snuggled against his chest. He was reading to her, his voice soft, then suddenly louder, higher, then lower, and different accents made appearances.

Robert observed this for a minute, not wanting to spoil Matthew's time with his daughter. He felt, however, that he must interrupt. "Cymbeline. Not one of Shakespeare's more popular plays," he commented.

"I didn't quite appreciate at first, but the resolution is something quite astounding," Matthew replied, looking up. A faint blush lit his cheeks.

"She's a little young for Shakespeare, don't you think?" Robert motioned to Emily, who stared at him with dark, stoic eyes.

Matthew put the book on the table beside him and groaned as he sat up on the couch, all the while keeping Emily firmly in his grasp. "You're never too young for Shakespeare. My parents started giving them to me when I was three."

Robert sat down with a laugh. "Quite highbrow for a girl who's all of nine months."

"She likes it when I do the voices," Matthew defended. He brought his arm closer around Emily and kissed her head. "You like it, darling, don't you."

Emily beamed up at him with a toothless grin. If anything, she just loved it when Matthew gave her loving attention, but either way, she was content.

"She's very sweet," Robert observed.

Matthew smiled and glanced at Emily again. "Yes, she is. Would you like to hold her?"

Robert nodded hesitantly. "Of course, if you..."

"Take her," Matthew replied. He held Emily upright, and Robert stood to take her from him. "Thank you," Matthew breathed, and he sat back against the cushions of the couch. "I didn't want to get up while holding her, I don't trust my balance enough yet."

Robert smiled weakly and began to bounce Emily up and down. She stared at him, unsure if she liked him or not. "Everything is getting better, though?"

"I should be as back to normal as it gets in the next few months," Matthew answered. "So, yes."

Robert nodded and managed a smile at Emily, who gave him a shy smile back. "You really love her, don't you?"

"Which her?"

"Emily, Mary, both of them, I guess."

Matthew blinked. "More than anything in this life."

"I can see that," Robert said. He shook his head. "I'm sorry about... what I said to you. About Mary, and about having children. I was so sad for both of you, that you could never... But now, seeing you with Emily, and loving her so much, I realize that you and Mary have made the right decisions and this is what is right for you."

"I quite agree. And I'm glad you see it as such."

"Break the entail," Robert said. "I never wanted to, but I know you're capable of it. And I know it's important to you."

Matthew smiled. "It is important. I'm glad you support us."

Robert once again glanced at Emily, and kissed her forehead gently. Emily beamed. "I have the most beautiful granddaughter, don't you agree?"

Matthew grinned at Emily. "Only if you agree that I have the most beautiful daughter."

* * *

Sybil bounced up the stairs to the flat, her sweater pulled tight around her. Tom wouldn't be home for a few hours yet, but she couldn't wait to see him.

Life in Dublin hadn't been easy; Sybil had struggled to find a job as an English aristocrat with very little nursing training. Her practical experience had finally convinced a hospital for wounded veterans needing longtime care to take her on. The work was hard and unrewarding, and it didn't pay well, but Sybil loved it and she worked as hard as she possibly could. In three months, she had already become well respected among the staff

It was her day off, on Wednesday, and so she was at a loss for what to do with herself after her doctor's appointment.

She sat on the couch, simply waiting, and thinking.

After what seemed like forever, the door to their flat opened and Tom walked in. He barely had a chance to set down his briefcase before Sybil bounded into his arms. "I have the most wonderful news to tell you," she said excitedly.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Go for it, then."

"Well, I've suspected it for quite a while, but I wasn't totally sure, so I went today and..."

"Sybil," Tom said gently, "just tell me what it is."

Her eyes began to well up. "I'm pregnant."

He drew in a sharp breath and his own eyes grew wide. "You are?"

"Yes," Sybil said, a laugh escaping her lips. "I really am. I'm about ten weeks gone, they said. The baby should come in April, they think."

Tom put his hand to Sybil's stomach, still unchanged. "Our child is in there."

Sybil grinned. "Yes. Our child."

Neither of them could hold it in any longer, and their lips touched almost instantly.

* * *

Mary was somber that gray October day, and everybody knew why. Except, of course, for Emily, who was irate that her mother wasn't responding to anything she did. She babbled on in her own language to Mary, but Mary hardly took notice.

Matthew came home early that day, to a quiet wife and a sobbing daughter. "Emily," he said softly, picking his daughter up and bouncing her in his arms, "your mama is very sad today. Don't you worry, she'll be happy again."

"Actually," Mary said, her voice hard, "I want to show her something."

"Of course." Matthew kept Emily close to him and followed Mary out into the gardens. It wasn't quite raining, but the gloom was threatening a downpour and Emily shivered. Matthew wrapped his arms tighter around Emily.

Mary stopped in front of a tree and stared at a carved stone under it. It just had the date on it. October 12, 1911.

"This is your big brother," Mary whispered. She didn't look at Emily, keeping her eyes trained on the stone as they began to fill. "This is George. He would have been eight today. He only lived for two minutes, but I loved him very much, the same as I love you very much. I'm the only person who remembers him, so I'll tell you all about him so that you can remember him when I am gone. And then you will love him as well. Does that sound right, Emily?"

Emily, of course, didn't know exactly what Mary was talking about, but she saw the sadness in her mother's eyes. She squirmed in Matthew's arms, reached toward Mary, and said, "Mama." It was faint and somewhat garbled. but she said it.

Mary was not one for crying, but this made her sob, and she took Emily and held her close. "Her first word," she murmured.

Matthew patted his wife's back and rubbed his daughter's head. "I'm so proud of both of you."

"It's just... I never thought I would hear that, not after George," Mary explained, through her sniffles. "It's real, I really am a mother."

* * *

"And you're sure you're fine with having the baby here?" Tom asked, his arm around Sybil as they relaxed on the couch of their flat. "I mean, of course I would love to have the baby born in Ireland but if you'd feel more comfortable doing it back at Downton..."

Sybil rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm certain. I want to have the baby here. Besides, you know Mary and Matthew are coming, because I did want some family here."

"Good," Tom said. "Good. But are you sure you didn't want family with more... experience of childbirth?"

"Mary has experience." At Tom's confused look, she explained, "Her first husband, Patrick, who died on the Titanic? They had a little boy, but he died a few minutes after he was born and Mary couldn't..."

Tom nodded in understanding. "Don't worry, I won't bring it up." He paused. "Will we get a chance to meet Emily when they come?"

"I certainly hope so. I know it was something they were undecided on. Matthew wanted to bring her, but Mary wasn't so sure. I encouraged her to bring Emily, but then again, it might be a challenge if they're staying here, which I want them to."

"A challenge for Mary, perhaps, but I'm certain the rest of us won't find it too difficult."

Sybil was about to protest, but she had to concede. "Mary is better about such things, but as much as I love her, she's not... exactly adaptable. She's proven herself more adaptable than I ever would have imagined, though."

"And you've proved yourself adaptable beyond anyone's wildest dreams."

Sybil snuggled up to Tom, who placed a large and gentle hand on her stomach. "I love it here."

"I'm glad. Because I love it even more with you."

* * *

 _Turns out this chapter is on time for many reasons, but anyway, you didn't have to wait an extra day or so like I was thinking would happen. So anyway, next chapter will be the last one! I almost can't believe it! Thanks for all the support you've given me, and I'd absolutely love it if you could continue that support and drop a review to tell me what you think. Thank you so much!_


	22. Chapter 22

Sybil wasn't remotely prepared when the doorbell rang; the flat was a mess, dinner was beginning to burn on the stove, and she was hardly presentable. It wasn't exactly what she wanted to show to her sister. She wanted to prove that she was settling into this new life easily. She pressed her lips together and glanced around the flat. Well, she would simply have to point out that she was heavily pregnant.

She turned off the stove and opened the door, which revealed Mary and Matthew's smiling faces.

"You're here already!" Sybil said. She immediately went to hug Mary, a closer show of affection than usual, but so very genuine. Without thinking, she hugged Matthew as well, and he gave her a tentative embrace. She stepped back and looked them over. Noting Matthew standing strong and unassisted, and Mary's happy glow, she commented, "You're both looking very well. I'm so happy to have you here!"

A little face emerged from behind Matthew's legs. He smiled apologetically at Sybil and reached down. "This is Emily," he said, picking his daughter up and balancing her on his hip. "Emily, this is your Aunt Sybil." Emily immediately buried her face in Matthew's shoulder. "She's a little bit shy, but just give her lots of attention. She loves attention, don't you darling?"

Sybil grinned and reached to pat Emily's head. "Hello, Emily."

Emily raised her head to glance at Sybil and immediately buried her head again.

"She'll warm up to you eventually," Mary reassured. "But you're looking quite ready for one of your own."

"I still have two weeks to go, so we'll see," Sybil replied. "And we're absolutely not prepared, but I worked my last shift for a while two weeks ago, and I've been trying to get the house ready ever since."

Mary shook her head. "My little sister, a proper Dublin housewife."

"I'm trying," Sybil said. "Now, won't you sit down, and I'll put some tea on. I was trying to make dinner, but my potatoes were burning, so I'm not sure if we'll even want to eat it." Both Mary and Matthew made a move to help, but Sybil shook her head. "No, sit down, I'll get this."

Mary and Matthew smiled benignly and took a seat in the small room next to the kitchen. Emily sat between them, entertaining herself with a doll that Mary had tucked in her handbag.

"Tom should be home any time now," Sybil said, carrying a plate into the sitting room. She closed her eyes and winced.

"Are you alright?" Matthew asked.

Sybil let out a breath. "I think so."

"Sybil..." Mary said quietly. "Sybil, was that a contraction? Because it looked an awful lot like one."

"They've been happening all week, but the doctor said they didn't mean anything; they were just practice, sort of."

Mary got up and took the plate from her sister. "You sit down, and keep an eye on the amount of time between contractions. If they start becoming more frequent, it might mean something more."

Sybil nodded and sat down heavily next to Matthew and Emily. Emily stared at her aunt's reddening face, and her burgeoning stomach, and turned to Matthew. "Otay?" her little voice said.

"What is she saying?" Sybil asked.

"I think she's wondering if you're okay," Matthew said. "Yes, Aunt Sybil is alright. And pretty soon, she'll have a baby, like you, but even littler."

Emily's brow furrowed. "Otay?" she questioned again, taking another glance at her aunt.

Mary reached down to pick up Emily. "Yes, Aunt Sybil is okay. She's going to give birth to a little baby just like... like your mama gave birth to you."

The little girl broke into a big smile. "Mama!" she repeated, clapping her hands.

Mary looked stricken, almost as if she was about to cry, but she kept it together. "That's right, Emily. I'm your mama."

Sybil was about to relax, believing the contractions had passed, but another one came and this time she couldn't hold in a groan of pain. "Let's see, the last one was about 9 minutes ago? So if they don't get too close too quickly, we should have plenty of time. All the same, I hope Tom gets home soon."

"Once he gets home, I'll go get the doctor," Matthew offered. "I mean, as long as you give me his address."

"Of course, thank you," Sybil said, leaning back against the cushions. "I'm afraid I must apologize for being a terrible hostess."

Just as Mary and Matthew were about to offer words of consolation, the door opened and Tom came in. "Lady... I mean, Mary, Matthew, how wonderful to see you."

Matthew smiled at Tom but Mary was all business. "We're concerned that Sybil is going into labor."

Tom's eyes widened. "Wait, now?"

"Yes, now," Mary said, almost irritated. She calmed herself. "She won't be a while yet, but we should begin preparing."

"Yes... well, yes, of course," Tom stumbled. "What... um, what must we do?"

Mary sighed. "Matthew is going to go get the doctor if the contractions get any closer, but I think right now we should get Sybil to bed."

"I haven't made your bed, though... or finished making dinner, or..."

"I'll do it," Mary said.

Sybil almost laughed. "Do you know how to make a bed?"

Mary tried to find a reasonable answer, but had to admit defeat. "Well, no, but how difficult can it be?" Tom and Sybil shared a knowing glance, but Mary shook it off. "Anyway, what's important right now is making sure Sybil is comfortable and safe. I have a feeling none of us will be getting much sleep tonight."

Sure enough, by midnight, Sybil had gone into labor. "Do you think," she asked between heavy breaths, "that the baby will be healthy? It's just, it's two weeks too early."

"Usually babies born at thirty eight weeks are perfectly healthy," Dr. O'Malley, a friendly enough man with a thick Irish accent, said.

Sybil gave a glance to Mary, who was standing against the wall in the bedroom. To no one but Tom's surprise, the doctor forbade husbands in the room. "When was George born?" Maybe it was an insensitive question, but Sybil was too consumed with pain and worry to think about anything but her own child.

"Thirty four weeks," Mary said, surprised at how easily such a detail came to her head. "Too early. But Sybil, don't worry too much about it. According to Mama, you were born two weeks too early, and you turned out just fine."

Sybil hesitantly nodded, trying to hold in a scream as another crest of pain flowed through her.

"Don't try to hold it in," Mary advised. "Sometimes the noise can be cathartic."

So Sybil screamed.

Matthew and Tom heard it clearly, as they sat in the sitting room with glasses of whiskey. Emily was asleep across Matthew's lap.

"I hate hearing her go through this," Tom said, gulping down his whiskey.

"I can imagine," Matthew replied. "I can't know for sure, but I believe the result will be absolutely worth it." He stroked Emily's hair gently.

Tom watched the little girl sleeping on Matthew's lap. "How did you find her?"

"My mother gave us the address of an orphanage she supports, we went there, told the woman there we wanted a baby girl, preferably a war orphan, because, well..." He trailed off and Tom did not expect him to finish. "Anyway, she brought Emily to us and I loved her from the moment I saw her. And the feeling seemed to be mutual."

"And you'd never trade her for a child of your own?"

"I hope to God I never end up having to make such a sadistic choice, but no, I would never trade, because Emily is one of my own."

Another scream pierced their ears.

Mary was right. No one, except for Emily, got much sleep that night and the bed never got made. Matthew eventually managed to drop off for a few hours on the couch, his arm protectively around Emily. Tom didn't sleep at all.

It was early morning, and the sun's rays were just beginning to peek through the window when the screams stopped. A few minutes later, Mary came into the sitting room, waking Matthew and causing Tom to jump to his feet.

"Is she alright? Are they both alright?" he asked.

"Yes," Mary said, with a smile. "Go and see."

Tom was out of the room in a flash.

Mary went to go sit on the couch by Matthew. "Are you alright?" she asked, noticing his wincing.

"Yes," he said stubbornly. "But I am glad that, were I to be kicked out of our bed, I have another bed to go to, because my back and sleeping on the couch do not seem to get along."

Mary ran her fingers gently along his stubbly neck. "Good thing I'm never going to kick you out of our bed, then. Even if I was really angry, I still need your chest as my pillow."

Matthew blushed and kissed the top of his head. "Did everything really go well?"

"Yes, it did. And you'll get a chance to see them, but just let Tom and Sybil have a moment alone."

In the bedroom, Sybil looked up as Tom knocked on the door. "Come in," she said, grinning.

"Is this..." Tom began.

Sybil held up the little bundle in her arms. "You have a son."

Tom's eyes widened. "I... I have a son," he murmured. "Look at him, he's just..." He was lost for words as he took the little bundle into his arms and sat on the edge of the bed. "He's quite a handsome little man."

"Yes, he is," Sybil said. "He's perfect."

"I can't believe he's here," Tom said. "A year ago, I was still wondering whether you would ever reciprocate my feelings. And now..."

Sybil grinned. "I strung you along terribly, and I'm sorry for it."

"It hardly matters now, because it was worth it," Tom said.

It was nearly an hour before Tom could be persuaded to leave the room, and that was just because Sybil needed to feed the baby. Mary and Matthew came in after the feeding and both held the little boy with admiration. They allowed Emily to look at him and say hello and gently touch his face. "Baby," Emily said slowly and proudly. She grinned at the little boy.

"I suppose we can't keep calling him baby," Mary remarked. "Have you given any thoughts to names?"

Sybil smiled. "We've decided. It was actually quite easy. We fought a lot over girl names, but we knew exactly what we wanted for a boy. So I supposed we were blessed to have a boy."

Tom took his son from Mary. "This is Daniel Thomas Matthew Branson."

Matthew's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Tom wanted Daniel for after his father, which of course I agreed to, and I liked the name. Thomas after Tom, of course, and his grandfather And then Matthew... well, we were part of each others lives for a long time, and we still are and will be, and I think that's important to remember. And I couldn't imagine a better man for Daniel to grow up to emulate."

Matthew wasn't crying, but he was close.

"I think it's a lovely name," Mary said.

Daniel yawned and Mary handed him back to Sybil, who stared adoringly at her son. She grinned. "You know, one time I thought I would be close enough to happiness. But this... this is happiness."

Tom leaned down and kissed her. __

* * *

 **April 1925**

Grantham House was abuzz when Matthew came home, a spring in his step and a smile on his face.

Mary didn't even bother to wait for a servant to open the door when the bell rang. She went straight to the door and opened it, and immediately embraced her husband. "So?" she asked, her eyes full of hope.

"It's done," Matthew said. "It's finally done. The entail is broken."

Something, a cross between relief and pure joy, crossed over Mary's face. They had been fighting for years to break the entail, and to hear the news that it had finally gone through was absolutely thrilling.

Emily bounced up beside her mother. "Can we go to Hyde Park?" she asked, her eyes wide. "Please, Mama?"

Mary smiled apologetically at Matthew. He smiled. "It's as good a place as ever to celebrate. Tell you what, Emily, go find William and Mama and I will grab Charlotte and we'll all go to the park as a family," he said.

Their little family had grown in the past five years. Emily was barely two when she had begun to beg for a sibling; she loved visiting Ireland and seeing Daniel but only seeing him once or twice a year was not enough. Isobel had helped them find a little boy, who was just five months old when he was adopted, and named William. Matthew felt that it was meant to be; if he had a son to name he would have named him William, and thus little William became the newest member of the Crawley family. When William grew older (and more annoying to Emily), Emily began to beg for a little sister. It took a while for Mary to concede, but eventually she did. Charlotte, only two months old when adopted, became a Crawley, and their family grew a little bit bigger.

Most of society had been surprised at the unusual adoption of three stranger children into the Crawley family, but most were at least outwardly supportive. The servants at Downton were especially supportive; they loved the children. Robert and Cora became more and more approving when they saw how much the children were loved. And Sybil and Tom, of course, approved. Daniel and his younger sister Saoirse loved having cousins to play with.

Emily was halfway out the door before Mary even made it down the stairs with a six-month-old Charlotte in her arms. "Let's go!" Emily said, running up to her mother and back to the door.

"Emily, remember, a lady must be patient," Mary said calmly.

"I'm not a lady though," Emily said, almost taking pride in her statement. "Will I ever be a lady?"

Mary blinked, unsure how to respond to her daughter's statement. "We can talk about it."

Emily seemed uninterested in talking about it at the moment though, and the minute Charlotte was settled into her pram, Emily burst out the door.

Mary followed her, pushing Charlotte's pram, and Matthew trailed behind, William's sticky hand in his.

Matthew watched as Emily ran back and forth across the sidewalk, so full of energy. Emily had always been full of joy and vigor, full of spirit and spunk. On occasion, she could be a handful, but she was so sweet that it was easy to forget how troublesome she could manage to be. Most of all, Emily loved people. She loved being the center of attention, but she also loved to meet people and talk to them, and love everyone she met.

William was quite the opposite of Emily; his untamable fiery red hair belied his sweet and gentle spirit. William was the quiet one, but also quite devious. He was as introverted as Emily was extroverted. The two often fought, but ultimately, they were the best of friends.

"Can I go with Emmy?" William asked, tugging on Matthew's hand.

Matthew patted his son on the head. "Alright, but be careful. Don't run too fast, be sure you can see us at all times, and don't cross any streets by yourselves."

William nodded, despite obviously not having any idea what was said. He immediately ran off to join his sister, and Matthew caught up to walk beside Mary.

"I can't quite believe they have so much energy," Matthew said.

"Well, you expended all yours on getting this bill through Parliament," Mary pointed out. "But I'm so glad you did. I feel like I can breathe easy knowing we can provide for them. I'm still impressed."

Matthew blushed. "Well, Lord Birkenhead really did most of the work. He does have a bit more influence than I do. I'm just glad we could make them see sense."

"You know, I used to picture you as Lord Chancellor. In fact, I told Aunt Rosamund once that I thought you could make it."

He blinked. "When was this?"

"After Sybil's ball. Sybil was getting so many offers, Aunt Rosamund thought she could do better than you. Of course, I didn't."

Matthew laughed. "I'm certain Sybil thinks she did much better than me."

"Maybe she does, but I think I got the better end of the bargain," Mary said. "We're lucky you're so terribly clever."

"You overestimate me," Matthew said.

"Never," Mary protested gently. She kissed her husband's cheek as she continued to push the pram.

When they reached the corner of the street, Emily and William were there, impatiently waiting. "You're so slow!" Emily moaned. "Will and I got here ages ago!"

"Emily," Mary warned.

Matthew, however, laughed. "We are slow, aren't we? Someday when you're old like Mama and I are, you'll be slow too."

"You're not old," William said. "You're just grownups. Granny Violet is old."

Mary raised an eyebrow and cast an aside glance to Matthew. "Dear Lord, if she ever heard him say that..."

Matthew shook his head and implored his family to cross the street and enter the park. Emily and William immediately ran off, and Matthew had to yell after them.

"Sorry," Emily said sheepishly, as they ran back to their parents. "Will wanted to see the ducks at the pond."

"I did not!" William protested, stamping a foot. "You did!"

"You're going to stay with us," Mary said firmly. "No matter who wants to see the ducks. In fact, I think we have something to talk about as a family."

A family. No matter how many times that word was said, it brought a rush of exhilaration to Mary and Matthew. They never thought this would be possible, and here they were, with a beautiful family.

They found a bench in a quiet looking area of the park. Mary pushed Charlotte's pram beside it and sat down. Matthew sat next to her, and Emily between them. William chose to plop himself on Matthew's lap.

"What did we need to talk about?" Emily asked impatiently. "Is it bad?"

Matthew shook his head. "No, darling, not at all. But it might be difficult for you to understand."

"Well?"

A sigh escaped Matthew's lips. "How do I explain the entail to you? Well, first of all, do you know who owns Downton?"

"Granny Violet!" William said confidently.

"She doesn't even live there, stupid," Emily said, accompanied by a large eye roll.

"Emily, don't call your brother that," Mary warned.

"It's Grandpapa," Emily said.

Matthew nodded. "And do you know why it's Grandpapa's?"

Both children shook their heads.

"He got it from his father. That's how it gets passed down, from father to son. Now, do you know who gets it when Grandpapa dies?"

"Grandpapa is gonna die?" William asked, his eyes wide.

Mary placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hopefully not for many years. But when he gets old, even older than Granny Violet, he won't be with us anymore and then who will own Downton?"

"Papa?" Emily asked. Her tone indicated that she was guessing, but her face lit up when Matthew nodded.

"Yes, I get Downton. But not because I'm Grandpapa's son. I'm the closest male relative. The estate has to go to a boy..."

"That's silly," Emily interrupted stubbornly. "A girl could own it just as well."

"I agree," Matthew said. "It is silly that I should inherit when your Mama, as Grandpapa's eldest daughter, is perfectly capable of owning Downton and running it well. Luckily, we married, so it isn't a problem, but that's part of what I'm going to tell you two."

William simply looked confused. "But..." he started. He didn't seem to have an exact question.

"I wish I could explain it better, but I'm not sure how. In any case, I've been working for the past few years on a way to change the law where everything has to pass from father to son, or to the next closest male relative. And today, we finally passed the law. The entail is broken. And now we can pass Downton onto you when we die."

Emily nodded. "So if this law still was there, William would get everything?"

"See, there's another wrinkle in this situation," Mary said, taking over. "Emily, you might remember when we saw Aunt Sybil when she was pregnant with Saoirse?"

"When she was really fat?" Emily asked candidly.

"Emily, it's very rude to say that. But yes, that was when she had Saoirse inside of her. When two people love each other very much... sometimes it turns out a baby starts to grow inside the woman."

"You didn't get all fat when Charlotte was born though," Emily said.

Mary nodded. "I didn't. Your father and I love each other very much, you must understand that. But also, sometimes a woman can't grow a baby inside her."

"Then how did we grow?" William questioned.

"You had other mothers," Mary said, and her throat went dry just thinking about the idea. "Another woman grew you inside of her, and got... large and everything. In Emily's case, that mother died of the flu. For William, nobody knows who or where she is. Charlotte's died as well."

"You're not my mother, then?" Emily asked, more intrigued than worried.

"I promise you, I am every bit your mother," Mary said sincerely. "Papa and I, we chose you. We wanted you so much that we chose you specifically."

Emily stood up and began to pace back and forth. Obviously she had seen Matthew do it many a time. "My real mother is dead?"

"She died when you were a few weeks old," Matthew confirmed, his voice quiet. "You were in an orphanage, and we came and decided we wanted you to be our daughter. And we've never regretted that decision, not once."

"Would she have loved me?" Emily asked.

"I'm not sure," Mary answered truthfully. "I can't imagine anyone not loving you. I'm sure she loved you, and I'm sure she's very glad you're in a loving family."

Emily looked stricken, unsure how to comprehend this. "I always thought you... that you were my parents."

"And we are, darling," Matthew said, reaching out to his daughter. "We love you all so much, and we wanted you to be ours so much. And now you are."

Emily stopped pacing. "What does this have to do with the law?"

"Legally, you're considered adopted," Matthew said. "As in, you're not the biological children of your mother and I. None of you could inherit under the old law. The new law removes that restriction. Now any of you can inherit."

Emily blinked. "You're going to give us Downton?"

"Not for a very long time, hopefully," Mary said. "But eventually, yes."

"And you changed this whole law for us?"

Matthew nodded. "That was my motivation. I wanted to see Downton go to my children."

Emily paused for a moment, and neither of her parents were certain how she was taking the news. Then suddenly, she rushed up and threw herself into Matthew's arms. "You chose me," she whispered.

"We did."

She laid her head on Matthew's shoulder. "I don't know who my real parents are and I don't really care, because I think you're my real parents. Mothers and fathers are supposed to love their children and play with them and my real parents didn't do that with me, but you did. So you are my real parents."

Neither Mary nor Matthew could hold back all of their tears.

After maybe a half hour more of quiet talk, Emily and William, not especially bothered by anything they had learned, went off to play. Mary took Charlotte out of her pram and held the baby girl in her arms. She moved closer to Matthew and they stayed close in the warm spring sunlight. It was a beautiful day and perhaps even more beautiful was the sight of their children playing together.

Mary rested her head on Matthew's shoulder. One of his arms was behind her back, the other hand rubbing Charlotte's sweet little curls. It was perfectly peaceful and pleasant.

"I never used to think I'd be very close to happiness" Matthew said softly.

"And this? Is this close enough?" Mary asked.

Matthew leaned over to kiss her. "This is more than enough."

* * *

 _*crying my eyes out because emotions* Anyway, there you have it. I'm really proud of this story, and I'm proud that I finished it, and I'm really thankful to all of you for sticking around to read it. I know some peope have been asking for a sequel, but... I don't think there's much more story to tell here. So right now, I have no plans for a sequel. However, I am open to keeping this verse alive. Feel free to send me prompts in this verse on my Tumblr, hufflepuffhermione, and I'd be happy to write them. I also am aware that quite a few of you are disappointed that Mary and Matthew didn't have a biological child, but that was something I chose to do very early on and I felt it was important to keep that aspect intact and show that they could be happy even without biological children. And I think they are. I have another fic that I'm in the midst of writing but I'm not expecting to post it anytime soon, because life is insane. Hopefully I can start posting that in a couple of months. Also, a special shoutout to Klarinette49, who read over every chapter of this fic and gave me advice on how to make it better. Finally, thank you all so much. I'm so grateful for your support and encouragement! And your lovely reviews! In fact, I'd love it if you could leave a review on this chapter! Thank you so much, and I hope you've enjoyed this fic!_


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